


The Purpose of Art (An Old Guard AU)

by Isabelle Hemlock (isabelle_hemlock)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: ALSO this fic takes place from Mid November to March, AU, Alternate Universe, Book of Nile, Booker gets a redemption arc, F/F, F/M, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Immortal Wives Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Justice will be served, M/M, Middle Eastern poetry abounds, Multiple chapters, Only happy endings allowed, So there will be a friendsgiving and pumpkin spice, Social Justice, additction will be mentioned, and Christmas miracles, and I like to think I'm funny sometimes, and New Year's Eve parties, and spring break romances that bloom loveeee, because art is romantic and an aphrodisiac, booker x nile, but don't worry MILD angst, but in a "f--- them" we have our found family right here sort of way, but no one falls off the wagon, but romance ftw, but there will be angst before then, familial homophobia will be mentioned later on, just decent human beings doing the right thing, like I said - there's a lot of romance, lots of therapy talk, multi fic, only happy endings allowed here, other old guard characters make appearances, restorative art justice, sketches of Nicky fall out of Joe's sketchpad at some point, so there will be comedic relief throughout to help break up the angst, social justice is the main theme, sorry no immortals here, the romance range in this fic is insane, validation communication and safe spaces abound, what a world, with a summer epilogue to wrap things up with a nice little bow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 111,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabelle_hemlock/pseuds/Isabelle%20Hemlock
Summary: (A Restorative Art Justice AU Fic)Restoring art to their rightful owners, and taking down the elite along the way.  Social justice at its finest, where the characters of color get actual support from their white colleagues - and not in the white-savior-complex sort of way, but in the “Why are you only addressing me?  Ask my same sex spouse who’s the actual expert in the field.”  Oh yeah, we have two LGBTQA+  couples because *reasons*.Featuring the prestigious Bythewood University, the corrupt Merrick Museum of Art, and the black market Copley Foundation Auction House.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 119
Kudos: 227





	1. An Introduction

* * *

Welcome to the yet another collaborative effort of the ToG fandom -

a multi chapter AU fic, where though we don't have any immortal warriors,

we _do_ have some social justice warriors . . .

check _[out this tumblr link here](https://petersock.tumblr.com/post/627979283453919232/restorative-art-justice-squad-moodboards)_ to see where it all started, though most of the post is reprinted here for easier character reference :)  
  
The goal will be to post one chapter a week - and though the hope is seven, maybe it will be a little longer ~

the major themes are about social justice in the art world (and restoring pieces to their rightful owners),

but there will also be plenty happy endings for most of the characters as well :D  


* * *

**The Bythewood University Characters**

**_Andy_** the Dean of Bythewood University. Smarter than everyone else in the room when it comes to the politics of running an institution but is really getting fed up with the research museum that has cut off their financial support for the university. Later, when she and the team make it to the black market auction, she’s the only woman wearing a powersuit tux that was tailored for her, because again, _reasons_. Though she keeps things professional, and works well with all the departments, she spends most of her time with the Art History professors.

_**Quynh**_ her WIFE, who is also the Asian Art History Professor on campus … and who secretly writes romance novels about a lesbian couple who can time travel and have lots of sexy times (and everyone just _knows_ these stories are actually about their marriage). She might look small and unassuming, but she’s a viper who will cut down anyone who messes with Andy. She will _never_ start the fight, but she will finish it (and win).

_**Yusuf/Joe**_ first generation American of Tunisian parents. He’s the Middle Eastern Art History Professor at the University, and most of the class has a crush on him. He’s so charming, and funny, and warm and welcoming - that it’s kind of hard not to. But he’s currently single, and definitely not looking to mingle. Once he gives his heart to someone, it will be forever. On the side, he sketches and reads love poetry from his parents homeland, but prefers to anglicize his name because it’s just easier to fit in that way _~~[ side note, as a child of an immigrant myself, this little section will be addressed in the fic, because I did the same thing when I first came here to America as a teenager (Dad is American, Mom is German), so I cannot wait to get into some immigrant kid context with Joe ;) ]~~_

**_Nile_** Joe’s postgrad assistant who is currently writing her thesis on the research that goes into authenticating art pieces and the programs museums use to arrange their galleries - _and_ how they ensure art is accessible for everyone. Her long term goal is to secure enough funding to lead an African American Arts History program at the university. Though she knows the museum no longer works in conjunction with the university on research and authentication, she personally contacted Booker who _used_ to work with the University years ago to ask for a private meeting or two for her thesis. However, she stumbles on something that will eventually lead to her realizing a thing or two, that will shake up their Academic Art world . . . and *whispers* her heart.

  
**The Merrick Museum of Art Characters**

_**Booker**_ used to work as the Art History Professor, usually specializing in Renaissance and Baroque eras, but sometimes taught a class or two on Art Nouveau as well. He led the team to authenticate the museums pieces for years, and was even tenured - until he gave his two weeks notice and began to work directly for the museum. The team felt quite betrayed, and without further explanation from Booker, have tried to move on … meanwhile, the guy who was the best at catching forgeries, has slowly started to make some! But all “good things” must come to an end. Yet, maybe there’s a few _more_ things going on Booker, and he’s not merely as bad as he seems.

**_Nicky_** when Nile realizes what’s going on, she brings proof to the museum’s insurance department attache - who had been worried that this was happening, but didn’t have proof (those document forgeries from Booker had passed more than one scrutiny!). With Nile’s encouragement though, they bring their shared information to Joe first … and well, the quiet, introverted, young man catches the eye of a certain someone in the room. And it ain’t Nile. Before he can even realize what is happening, he’s being woo’d off his feet with epic centuries old love poetry notes left in his briefcase - and a sketch or two of his eyes that accidentally fall out of Joe’s pad.

**_Merrick (and Keane)_** owns the museum thanks to being born into the right family. His goal is to be the best of the best, to stand out among the competition because he's got poor-little-rich-kid syndrome (including a willingness to step on anyone in the way). Thanks to his personal bodyguard, Keane - who runs a tight ship in the security department - and their shady ability to use bribery and extortion on just about anyone, the Museum has managed to secure some of the best art pieces in the country. Except not all of them belong there . . .

  
  
**Copley Foundation Auction House**

  
  
  
**_Copley_** is the man in charge of the black market auction house in his name. It used to be a legitimate business, and during the day it still is. But after getting mixed up with Merrick’s museum, Copley is in a bind. Unsure how to get out from under Merrick’s threats of exposure (delivered by the Head of Security, Keane), but knowing that some of the art pieces being passed from his warehouse to the museum were obtained illegally, he is almost _relieved_ when the team approaches him with a plan … now, if he can just get them on the exclusive guest list for the next auction of black market items (that masquerades as a party for the elite).

* * *

_Also, somehow, I will find a way to include this in this story:_

”What should we call ourselves? Heroes?" 

"No, just a bunch of old guardians for art history and preservation - “ 

“Great, our group name is now the Old Guard?”


	2. Lounge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe, Andy and Quynh are just trying to enjoy a break in the Art Department lounge - and not cry over budget cuts, when Nile bursts in and shares some interesting news.
> 
> General introduction chapter of some established characters, as well as setting the scene for backstory information :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total fanservice - I'm not even going to pretend otherwise

_**“This is the purpose of art: to bring people together and bring the humanity as well.” eL Seed** _

Setting: The Art Department lounge of Bythewood University

* * *

_I've been here before. Over and over again. And each time the same question. Is this it? Will this time be the one? And each time the same answer._

_And I'm just so tired of it._

_  
_  
Long, thin fingers curled around the base of her neck, dipping over the curve until they brushed along her collarbone. The tension of the papers in front of her immediately began to drain away, because Quynh’s touch had a way of doing that. Andy had closed her eyes, feeling a tension headache forming behind her eyes as she had looked over the latest funding budgets for the university. But now, as she sank her head back into Quynh’s embrace, the moment felt at least tolerable, even if the outcome remained the same - the quarterly budget had taken yet another hit.  
  
As the Dean of Bythewood University, it was Andy’s responsibility to oversee the final signatures and move things around where they needed to go when departments tried to insist they deserved something the other one had. Most of them handled it professionally, if still a bit passive aggressively, but even now the real issue wasn’t interdepartmental relations but the sudden loss of funding from the Merrick Museum of Art two years ago. Andy had been picking up the pieces ever since, but with each quarterly review, a seething sort of undercurrent of hurt and anger blended into her body. Somehow she had managed to make it work long enough - _one percent cut here, two percent cut there_ \- but after two years of paper pushing it was starting to add up. Questions of _when_ they could start recovering, _when_ they could see a steady upswing felt like an unimaginable, unobtainable long shot at this point.   
  
They were looking for Andy to have the answers, to somehow fix it, and the weight of the world felt heavy on her shoulders. Just because she had managed to do it so far, didn’t mean she would want to keep carrying it. But she was the most trained, the most knowledgeable and there simply was no one else to take over the problem - it was hers to carry, but Quynh made it bearable.  
  
“Put those away for now,” she said quietly, her accent ringing through her ears, pushing the headache down. Andy sighed, flopped the binder shut, and reached her hand to cover her wife’s, “You’re right - besides it’s not like I won’t be looking at it tonight till my eyes bleed.”  
  
Quynh wrapped a cool arm around her shoulder, and pressed her lips to her neck, “Better not - that’s the only time I don’t have to share you with the world.”  
  
Andy smirked, her eyes finally opening, the headache gone.

Quynh was as beautiful as ever, gliding effortlessly from behind Andy to take a seat beside her. Her hair was in a loose braid, her dress professional but still soft - _airy, like her_ . Her reading glasses rested on top of her head, and the only thing that confirmed her as a university professor was the pile of files she had carried into the department’s lounge. There were only a few more weeks left of the fall semester, and the Asian Arts History Professor was slowly starting to be bombarded with the first drafts of final reports. Their offices at school were crisp and clean and ready for any visitors that might stop by - but that was only because their shared office at home was buried under paperwork (and that growing pile in front of them would end up being yet another mountain in the Scythian household).   
  
With the files flopped against the table, Quynh crossed her arms over them, and sank forward until her chin rested on her wrists - looking up at Andy in a way that still made her hitch her breath. They had spent a few years apart - a long story that Andy preferred not to dwell on. But as soon as Quynh reappeared, she refused to let her go. They were married a week later after their impromptu reunion, and even now, two years later, the feelings hadn’t faded. They only became deeper. Quynh showed back up in her life when she thought things couldn’t get worse. 

She brought her out of Hell just by being in her life. Quynh kept her sane.  
  
“Nickel for your thoughts?” Quynh smiled up at her.   
  
Andy grinned, “I’m sure someone has told you by now that the saying is ‘penny for your thoughts’.”  
  
“Yes, but you said you liked how I say it,” she teased before looking a little more serious, once she saw the weariness in Andy's eyes. She was trying to cheer her wife up, but that wasn't her job . . . _Shouldn't be_ , Andy thought. But nobody else could do it the way Quynh could. It was almost scary how much she needed this woman.

The budget could wait for a moment. She didn’t want to sully the few minutes they had together before work called them apart again . . . “Have you heard back from your editor yet?”  
  
Quynh sat up, placing her face in between her hands, curling her fingers against her cheeks and looking _oh so kissable_ \- “Mm not yet, I do hope he liked the latest draft. He did think it had potential for the third book in the series.”  
  
Andy leaned back in her chair, her head falling back a little as she laughed lightly, “I don’t think anything can top the second one Cưng.”   
  
_That_ book series had been written under a pseudonym, but it was an open secret among the academic world that Quynh had written it about _their_ love story. The first one was about two lovers who were separated by time travel and spent most of the book pining for each other through memories of their history together. But the _second_ book was all about their reunion - and well, it was basically fan service for the gay community. And really the only fiction parts about it was the time travel bits. 

“Maybe I just need a few chapters of inspiration tonight . . . “  
  
Andy’s head lifted back up, and she looked at Quynh silently - her answer written in the way her body began to lean closer to her . . .

But then the door opened, and she stilled as Joe walked in. 

He was wearing a casual suit that made him look both educated and down to Earth - a nice appeal for most of his Middle Eastern Art History students. If there was any professor she consistently got good reviews for every semester, it was Mr. Al-Kaysani. He was charming, funny, and could out talk any of them at the table. But it wasn’t just that he was a great colleague - he meant something to them both. Joe was the only one who was at their wedding, serving as the witness (after being the only one who had seen just how bad Andy had gotten in Quynh’s absence). 

As serious as Andy could get sometimes, Joe dragged a smile out of her every time he entered a room, because he was probably the only person she could call her friend. Joe and Quynh were her family, and they made her job more endurable in what felt like a long, tedious life sometimes.   
  
With his sketchpad under his arm, balancing a tray of coffee cups, he paused just before reaching the table, “Oh, am I interrupting a moment here?”  
  
Quynh raised an eyebrow at Andy, “I _hope_ so.”  
  
Andy almost snickered, “I don’t think you can expect privacy in a teacher’s lounge - even one as small as this.” She waved her hands to gesture around the otherwise barren room. 

Each department wing had a fairly large gathering room. Several tables, chairs, some file closets. All the basics. Decent furniture, too. But their art department was the smallest in the entire university - stripped down to five items of furniture total. The Art Departments were usually the hardest hit once it came to budget revisions, and even their Ivy League university had lost a few professors over the years. Andy kept hiring from other states, but they usually didn’t last longer than a year - citing higher paying gigs at other colleges. 

_The last two years really had been a shit show_ .  
  
Hot on Joe’s heels, Nile stormed into the room - her presence felt immediate and eloquent. She beamed as she practically skipped into the space, happier than usual (which was already a pretty high bar). This was it - the entire Arts Department - Quynh, Joe, and Nile (who was really just Joe’s TA, though fingers were crossed for her to teach next year). Andy wasn’t supposed to form any decisions before she had finished with the process, but Nile was more than qualified, she would have the job as soon as she had finished her post grad studies, and filled out the application - which at this point was just a formality really.   
  
“Good morning everybody I have - “ she paused once she stood next to Joe, spotting the tray of coffee, “Um, Joe - we do have an espresso machine here. Like, state of the art kind.”   
  
Nevermind that the art department lounge only had that because Quynh bought it with her book sales money.  
  
Joe just smiled, placing his sketch pad on the table, and handing Andy her cup, before taking his out, “Andy and I have less expensive tastes.” Andy wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it in front of Nile, but she did smile against the rim of the cup at Joe’s thoughtfulness to grab her a cup on his way in. Her days were spent running from one department to the next - either in person, or by call, or by emails. She certainly needed to retain at least the appearance of impartiality. But it was hard to keep that professional wall up when she was near her wife, and best friend, even knowing Nile might notice. If the newest member of their little circle did, she didn’t make it a point to mention it around campus.   
  
Even though she had only been around for a year, and even with _all the walls_ Andy had up, Nile seemed to break through them easily - she just felt right for their little team, like she had always been there. But right now, she remained standing, holding firm to a clipboard that had seen better days, “Well as I was saying: I _snagged_ it - I snagged the interview.”  
  
Andy put the coffee on the table, warming her fingers around the cup, “Which interview?”  
  
“I’m writing about the research that goes into authenticating art pieces and the programs museums use to arrange their galleries - _and_ how they ensure art is accessible for everyone - so just like the _process_ behind it. I think if people understood better about what goes into it all, it might help local communities get better funding with less resistance.”  
  
 _Ah the naivety_ , Andy thought to herself . . . “So who exactly are you meeting?”  
  
“Some French guy - Le Livre, hope I’m pronouncing that right.”  
  
Quynh was already getting up from the table towards Nile, while Andy frowned, and Joe dropped his pencil on the table exasperated. His whole upper body looked tense, and just as Quynh took Nile’s arm in hers to pull her out of the room, Joe gritted through his teeth at the sketchpad, “Tell him he can eat a whole _big bag of dicks!_ ”  
  
“Joe stop it - “ Andy gave him a firm stare, and he softened a little, but still grumbled a tight, _‘Fine’_ under his breath.  
  
Nile opened her mouth to ask, but Quynh was already pulling her into the hallway while Andy and Joe quietly argued about “dramatics” . . .

**\----**

  
“What the _hell_ was that about?,” Nile asked once they were alone.  
  
Though Quynh was doing her a favor by explaining the context, Nile noticed her eyes glancing back at Andy through the doorway quite often. Trying to check on her, even if it was just peripherally, “You’re meeting the former Classical Arts History Professor - he taught here years ago, before he up and quit and started working for the museum two years ago.”   
  
Nile didn’t follow, “So they hate the guy for giving his two weeks notice? How’s that different from the other two that left last year?”  
  
Quynh’s eyes returned to Nile, “Well shortly after, the museum cut all ties with the university and that meant a chunk of research funding went away - and any press for the university authenticating some of their items was now gone, too.”  
  
Nile’s eyes widened, “Wait, this guy got the musuem to do all that?”  
  
“Well no one knows if it was Le Livre or not, just that it happened shortly after he landed there,” Quynh had said it so casually, _matter of fact_ , like she was just presenting the facts - but even now they could still hear Joe rambling from the room, even if it was incoherently.  
  
Nile shook her head and refocused on Quynh, “Why not ask him, especially if he used to be a colleague?”  
  
Quynh stepped a little closer, hoping her high voice didn’t echo on the stone walls, “He supposedly stopped responding to their texts just before he left - no one really knew what was going on with him - then he’s gone to the museum, and then those ties are cut, too.”  
  
Nile was beginning to worry - he had seemed nice enough on the email when she reached out to him a week ago. And friendly when he confirmed their meeting time later today via text. But now - “Well should I not meet him then? What do you think of the guy?”  
  
Quynh had already been looking back into the lounge, and replied a little absentmindedly, distracted by the look on Andy’s face, “I’ve never met him actually - him and Andy knew each other after I had left for a little while -”. There was a little sadness on her face when she said that part, and she looked back at Nile - seemingly hoping to refocus her thoughts, “by the time I came back around, all this business had just happened.”  
  
“Well he seemed nice enough over the phone - “ Nile countered, more to herself than to Quynh.  
  
“And the fact that he’s willing to meet with someone from the university must mean _something_ .”  
  
Nile shuffled from one leg to the other, “Maybe.”  
  


**\----**

Joe checked to make sure he hadn’t snapped the pencil in half, but it looked like only a few lead chunks had landed on the sketchpad in front of him. _Good_ , he was dealing with it better as time went on. A year ago he would have broken both the pencil _and_ ripped a few sheets of paper.  
  
“Feel better?” Andy scowled against the coffee.  
  
“Yeah boss,” Joe sulked in his chair, “Sometimes I just need to be dramatic - but I’ll get over it. Eventually.”  
  
“When’s the last time you reached out?”  
  
He furrowed his brow, still looking at those lead scrapings on the coarse paper, “We agreed not to - or, have you?”  
  
“No - but if he answered Nile’s call, maybe he’d answer ours?,” Andy countered.  
  
Joe’s shoulders felt tense, “And what, reinstate the museum funding?”  
  
“Well yeah - “  
  
He finally looked up at her in disbelief, “You _really_ want to invite him to this table again?”  
  
“Sometimes you have to work with the people you don’t want to eat with Joe,” was her calm reply. _Too_ calm, _too_ professional. It pissed him off that she was willing to be so diplomatic about this. About someone they used to call a friend.  
  
“He betrayed us - he _left_ , and then magically our funding was cut? Come _on_ . This interview with Nile is either his _weak_ attempt at an olive branch for the university, or to stroke his own ego so he can tell himself he’s not the bad guy here,” his palms were gripping his knees tightly, but at least the tension was staying in his body - instead of coming out of the tone in his voice.  
  
“You’re probably right,” Andy had finished the coffee, and now a few moments of uncomfortable silence passed before she spoke up again, “Are you going to tell Nile not to go?”  
  
Joe rolled his eyes, “Like I would tell any woman, much less _Nile_ , what to do - “  
  
“Maybe not,” she stood up to throw the empty cup in the trash, before returning to stand next to him at the table, “but as her mentor she probably would appreciate you not sulking as she heads out.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Joe replied with his arms up, gesturing his surrender to the now inevitable interview with the enemy, “I’ll go pep talk her about self defense moves or something.”  
  
Andy tapped his shoulder playfully, “Tell her to bring that scimitar you’re not supposed to have in your office.”

  
“Ha _ha_ ,” he hollered behind her as she walked out of the room.

**\----**

Nile was in Joe’s classroom, packing up her things from the small desk near his before his first class of the day started. After the conversation with Quynh she had come straight there to take a moment to think - but to unpack all _that_ information would probably take more than the ten minutes she had gotten before Joe walked in.  
  


“Sorry I overreacted earlier.”

No one could accuse Joe of not getting straight to the point. About anything.  
  
Nile dumped the last pile of folders in the drawer before taking a seat. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it softened her own reply, “You’re entitled to whatever feelings you have - far be it from me to tell someone how to feel.”  
  
“Yeah but it was inappropriate to respond that way regardless,” he had circled around the large table in front of the classroom, and grabbed his own chair, pulling it close to hers, “you were excited about this interview, and I dampened it.”  
  
He did seem remorseful, and Nile wasn’t sure what to make it. She felt sort of childish for it, but she did care about his opinion, more than she cared to admit, “Do you not want me to do it?”  
  
“What?,” Joe answered immediately, “No - it’s necessary for your post grad work, and who knows maybe - “ his voice trailed off.  
  
“Maybe what?”  
  
His arms were folded behind his head, and his eyes carried a distant look, “Maybe Booker’s changed.”  
  
Nile cocked her head, “I thought his name was Sebastien?”  
  
“Yeah it is, but his last name translates as ‘book’,” Joe’s eyes crinkled around the edges as a memory seemed to play out in front of them, “and - we called him Booker for his love of first edition books - his whole house is lined with them.”  
  
Maybe the interview wouldn’t be so bad after all, “Sounds like an interesting guy.“  
  
Joe’s face fell a little, more defeated than angry, “Don’t let the smile dazzle you - be on guard around that guy.”  
  
But Nile was undeterred, and moreover, she knew Joe would appreciate a joke right about now to lighten the air, “Should I bring your scimitar Andy keeps telling you to take down from the office wall?”  
  
Joe slumped into his chair, feigning mild exasperation, “Ok you know what - both you ladies need to stop hating on the sword. It’s got some pretty fierce cultural representations for my ancestors _thank you very much_ .”  
  
The alarm rang on their phone, alerting them that the class would be starting in ten minutes, and Nile stood up to unlock the door across the room. But not before she got one more little playful dig in, “Still could cut the head off a student if they slammed into the wall.”  
  
Joe whipped around the edge of the chair, gripping the back for balance and a disbelieving smile curving his mouth, “ _What_ exactly do you think is happening in my office?”  
  
Nile waved off his reply with a wink, grateful that their natural effervescence had returned so easily. Sure, he was basically her boss, but she had hoped they were friends, too. And she was glad he didn’t tell her not to do the interview. Though she knew she would have done it _anyways_ , it meant something to her to have his support.

Opening the door, she could see a few students already heading towards the class, “Okay I’ll do the interview.” Turning to look back at Joe, she was grateful to no longer see any hint of disapproval, “And I guess, let’s meet up afterwards, sometime tomorrow afternoon and go over it?”  
  
Joe returned his chair to his desk, ready for the class, “Deal.”

* * *

  
Hope you liked it! Kudos and comments bring a smile to my face <3

And make sure to stay tuned next week for Nile's trip to meet Booker . . . and Nicky ;)

 _Notes: Cưng_ \- Vietnamese term of endearment that can mean, “adored” or “babe”


	3. Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile meets Booker :)
> 
> And Keane (uh oh), and Adorkable!Nicky! (yay!)
> 
> And the beginning seeds of the social justice warriors are planted <3

**Notes:**  
 _ **TW: addiction -** _this chapter will have some discussion of alcoholism discussed (as per the tags). It is discussed in a safe, validating way, as I am sensitive to the issue having had family who have struggled in the past with addiction. However, please be aware of your own triggers before proceeding if this subject matter could stir something.  
  
 **ALSO** Keane is an asshole - like, no shocker. There is mild angst where he tries to intimidate Nile. He doesn't lay hands on her, but he talks firm enough that I can appreciate that might be a trigger for some as well. So spoiler, but I waned to share that before anyone reads on.

* * *

**Chapter Two - Museum**

**_"The purpose of art is to raise people to a higher level of awareness than they would otherwise attain on their own." ~ Brassai_ **

**Setting:** _Merrick Museum of Art_

_Later that day . . ._

Nile knew a thing or two about preconceived notions - about judging someone before you even met them - oh _that_ she understood far too well. And she was going to make it a point not to let her colleagues' words decide her opinion of the man before she ever met him. It wasn’t that Quynh’s words didn’t echo in her mind as she ascended the stone steps of the museum's entrance - but even _she_ had said that no one knew for sure what had happened.   
  
Besides, she really, _really_ needed this man to allow her some access for her thesis. And she doubted that would happen if she sneered at the guy and hurled Joe’s “bag of dicks” insult at him ( _who even says that anyways?_ ). No, she would be professional and mature, and hopefully by this time next year, she would be leading her very own class - an African American Arts History program at Bythewood. She had managed to overcome so many adversities - her father’s death, her brother’s health problems, growing up in a lower income neighborhood - and of course there was also being a minority at an Ivy League. _Yeah, that._  
  
There were _enough_ obstacles to overcome, but still, even now she felt so close to completing her post grad work that she prayed to God that He was working hard behind the scenes on opening the doors she would need. This Arts History program could be just as much about her, as it would be for the community, and surely He could help her get that going? There must have been a downright _divine_ purpose behind Mr. Le Livre’s quick reply to her email last week.   
  
Tucking the slim briefcase under her arm, Nile reached for the membership ID and flashed it at the ticket booth attendant before asking for the admin offices. Once pointed to the third floor, she thanked the person and made a mental note for later to ask about low income options for the community. Her whole thesis was about how to bring art to the community and vice versa, and one aspect of that was making it accessible for all. Most metro museums offered low income memberships, or free days a few times a year - but she didn’t see any obvious signs about either option being available at Merrick’s Museum. 

Making her way to the elevators, she saw a few stragglers at the tail end of visitor hours. And even though people were dressed casually, Nile wondered if she shouldn’t have switched out of the jeans jacket for a blazer after all. Thanks to her age of 26 years, she wasn’t taken too seriously in the academic world already, _but a TA never would be anyways_ , a jacket choice didn’t really change that. But would it make Mr. Le Livre less likely to allow her access? She had been so focused on not judging the guy, she hadn’t considered _he_ might be the one to judge _her_. 

Stepping off the elevator, she meandered down the hall, finding the office number with his name etched on the frosted glass pane of the door fairly quickly. She was a little hesitant, but resolved nonetheless. She hadn’t come this far, _to only come this far_. With firm hand, she tapped on the pane twice.

“ _Entrer_ ,” a voice from the other side of the door perked up. 

And she is surprised by how melodic it sounds. Soft even. _Charming._  
  
When she opened the door, Mr. Le Livre looked up - soft blue eyes that widened at the sight of her - before glancing at the antique clock on the wall beside his desk, “Oh Ms. Freeman my apologies, I lost track of time - please come in.” His voice, accented, but easily discernible. At least to her. It’s when he stood up and out from behind his desk (and the stacks of papers) that she could get a better view of him. Dark ash blond colored hair, brushed behind his ears, a simple button down shirt and slim pants. _He’s handsome._

Out of all the things she had pictured Mr. Le Livre to be, handsome was the _least_ expected.

His outstretched hand before her brought her back into the moment, hoping she wasn’t being obvious, “Uh - Nile, just Nile please.”  
  
He smiled softly, a gentle nod to his head, “Alright Nile, my name is Sebastien.”  
  
Booker stepped aside, encouraging her to take a seat in a chair in the corner close to the window. It’s got a high wingback, and looked decades old - but pretty, with it’s velvet cushions, and dark wood legs. As she eased into the seat, in case it really _is_ an antique, Booker goes to the only modern piece of furniture in the room, a small cabinet that has a sink attached to it - no doubt a built in from the museum for the faculty. The electric kettle plugged in on the counter was already starting to boil the water, “I was just about to have some tea - would you care for some as well?” 

As she turned to answer, he leaned over to pull out containers of tea options from the drawer, and a strand came untucked from behind his ear - falling on his high cheekbone. Nile looked away so he wouldn't notice her staring, “Uh yes, actually - thank you.” 

After settling on a brand, he poured the cups, handing her hers first, and takes his seat behind the desk again - leaving not much room between them in the small office. It’s when she’s trying to do her best to refocus before returning her gaze to him, that she sees just how many pieces of _quite_ the random collection of items are gathered in the room: antique furniture with stacks of papers and tags, and boards with strings and receipts. It looked a little cluttered, but nothing she didn’t expect from someone responsible for his line of work. 

Unless this was just his personal stuff?   
She decided to fish for the answer.

“Do you have pieces in here that you are working on?“ she raised the cup to her face, the steam felt like a nice reprieve from the cold November air outside.  
  
“Most are kept in the basement,” Booker replied, stirring his tea exactly twice before placing the small spoon on the plate in his hand, “But the less expensive ones that are unlikely to be displayed anytime soon, those they let me fiddle with and restore to keep my brain sharp.” 

“Does it?” Nile chuckled, as she takes the first sip of hers.  
  
“Keep my brain sharp?” Booker raised his eyebrows, before smiling, “Hm, I don’t know if an old man like me can hope for too much - “  
  
Nile scoffed, as if the ‘old man’ status was a _ludicrous_ thing to imply, “Please, they're _plenty_ older things than you in this office.”  
  
Booker tried to hide the grin by tucking his chin close to his chest, and shook his shoulders a little like he wasn’t going to argue against _that_ reasoning.

Behind him, on a cherry wood bookshelf, near a set of what she presumed are the very same first editions book that Joe had talked about - Nile spotted an old wine bottle, gathering dust, “You haven’t gotten around to that one I see - or are you saving it for an end of the year party?”  
  
Booker followed the direction her line of sight has traveled in, turning his upper body behind him, then immediately slinked back in his chair with a downward gaze, “Actually - “ He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to continue (Nile would later wonder what made him continue, but she was glad he did), “The more dust I see gathering on that bottle, the longer I know I’ve gone without a drink.”  
  
Her mouth made a slight ‘o’ shape, but nothing actually came out.   
  
“My apologies, I shouldn’t - “ he instantly looked like he had regretted saying it, and there was a little tick in his clenched jaw, as if he was wearily trying to prevent himself from speaking further. Only a brief moment passed, and then he placed the tea on the desk.

Nile placed hers on the window sill, not at all finding an apology necessary, “How long has it been?”  
  
Something in her tone must have helped, because he looked back at her now - though still a little worn around the edges, “Eight months.” Then he paused for a moment, “Two weeks, and five days.”   
  
Nile lifted her shoulders a little and with gentle sympathy explained her lack of uncomfortability in one sentence - “I had an aunt who hasn’t had a drop in thirty years.”  
  
Booker’s eyes widened, and he laughed a little, “ _Mon Dieu_ , that sounds miserable.”  
  
Nile liked the way his laugh sounded, kind of like his voice - though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. But of course, that probably had more to do with the subject matter, than Booker, “She says not to think ‘I’ll _never_ have a drink again’, just ‘I won’t have a drink _today_ .’ And just say it every day.”  
  
Booker leaned his elbow on the desk chair arm, resting his cheek in his palm - _and there it goes again_ , just _one_ strand carelessly falling on his face again, “She sounds wise.”

An announcement that the museum was closing in thirty minutes went off in the hallway, even though it sounded muffled in the office. It made them both realize that they had grown quiet for a moment . . .  
  
“I think we might have gotten off topic,” Booker sat up, and folded his hands into his lap, with one leg bent over the knee. The way he teetered to the side looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it, “in your email you said you wanted to discuss the process behind art authentication? Something about access, right?”  
  
Nile perked up, and reached for the briefcase to pull out a binder with some of her notes, “Yes, it’s for my thesis - and well I’m really hoping to see the behind the scenes of how the museum gets a piece, how it is authenticated, researched, insured, chosen, just all of it.” When she lifts the binder towards him, he takes it and begins to flip through some pages while she continues, “But what I'm really hoping to do is show the local community the process in a way that they can understand - and in turn, hopefully encourage more consistent funding for art programs. In the end, I want to make art available for all.“

And then she steeled herself - waiting for him to roll his eyes, or snap the binder closed, or say it was too lofty of a dream. Even Joe was trying to gently encourage her to refocus on just the authentication piece - because the things she was hoping to see would require a large scale operation, far broader than the scope of the University could offer her.  
  
But that’s why she was here - at one point there was a collaborative effort between the university and the museum, and maybe one day there could be again. Booker and Nile working together could prove that. And in turn, the community could be encouraged to invest in that goal as well.   
  
Art was important. _This is important._ _  
_  
But if Booker was thinking of any of those things Nile worried about, he didn’t let on, just continued flipping through her binder - his voice calm, and casual when he replied, “So you would like to see the process from beginning to end?”  
  
He doesn’t look up when he asks, still skimming her notes with long, thin fingers. It’s harder to read him when his face isn’t looking at her.   
  
“Yes, though I don’t know if that’s allowed - “ _this is the moment_ \- she braced herself for his response. If he said ‘no’, she truly didn’t know what her other options would be.  
  
“Well, you might need to clear it with our insurance guy down below, and I’m sure Mr. Merrick will insist on having security with us the whole time,” he closes the book, handing it back to her with a soft smile.

Nile doesn’t move at first, trying to make sure she is reading his expression right, “But you would be willing?”  
  
“Of course,” and he has no idea what those two words mean to her. She takes her binder back, unable to help the big smile forming on her face. She was just about to say ‘thank you’, when he explains one a small caveat, “Please know though it can take weeks, sometimes even months to work on one piece from beginning to end - as I’m sure you know, it really is a process - so if you want to see it from the start, you might have to be around quite a few times over the next few months.“  
  
Nile clutched the binder against her chest, still beaming, “I’m okay with that.”  
  
Booker untangled himself from his position, and grabbed a cell phone from his desk, “Well if you can pass it by the insurance guy downstairs, then I don’t see why not. I could call and see if he’s still downstairs, and you could run it by him now?”

“Yes, please - thank you.”  
  
“ _Pardon_ \- “ he types a message and his phone makes that little sound to say it was sent. Then they waited.  
  
Nile returned the binder to the briefcase, and as soon as it had been clicked shut, the notification of a reply showed up on Booker’s phone. _That was quick_ , even by her Gen Z standards.

Booker flashed a dim smile, reading the response, and looked up Nile - his face a little brighter when directed at her, “He says he’d be happy to have you stop by. His name is Di Genova, and he's in the basement, room 112.”  
  
Nile was pleasantly surprised, “That’s very kind of him, thank you.”  
  
Booker was about to put the phone down, and started to say something, when his phone rang - he raised a finger, apologizing, but then explained he needed to take the call - though hopefully it wouldn’t take long.  
  
“Feel free to take a look around, and explore,” he mumbled before heading out of the office, closing the door behind him.  
  
Alone in a treasure trove of antiques _did_ seem like a nice way to spend an evening. Pressing her hands on her thighs, she hoisted herself off the chair and casually walked around the room, seeing which piece might strike her fancy first.  
  
She thought the Art Nouveau posters were beautiful, a little aged and worn, but clipped to a desk, like he was working on restoring them.   
  
Then there was a little model diorama - the Battle of Waterloo - and Nile smirked when she saw how much shorter Booker had made Napoleon in comparison to the other soldiers.  
  
But what her eyes really settled on was the board with the receipts, and letters pinned all over. Dozens of them. Announcements of galleries, and invitations to galas. Not just at the Merrick Museum (but those looked older). And right on top, just towards the right, were two tickets pinned above a card. Stepping a little closer she read “Copley Foundation Auction House” on them, with a New Years Eve date in six weeks. She knew that some museums bought donations from auction houses, but she wondered how that worked. With the authentication process, was it very different to certify an anonymous donation? Especially from an auction house, versus say, an archaeology dig?  
  
But what really made her eyes widen, was the card underneath the tickets - a generic invitation at first - but scribbled on at the bottom: “I included a plus one ticket. Number 32 will be the one M wants. Alterations needed.”   
  
And right there - scribbled in quick cursive was what she could only presume to be Booker’s writing in French with two exclamation marks. _Thank God for Google translate_ . . . she mused as she pulled out her phone and hurriedly typed in the words. She did her best to stifle a giggle when it popped up immediately: _‘How many fucking more!!”_  
  
She didn’t mean to laugh, but looking at the scribble, you could just feel the frustration bleeding through the page. And as her eyes scanned the other sheets of paper, she saw the name Copley on a few other pieces - and more French writing.  
  
She doubted she would have too much more time to translate, so instead she began snapping pictures (thinking that would be one way to end her evening - google translating French expletives in bed) - and Nile began lifting flaps of paper on the board in order to capture as much as she could. One very intriguing piece was buried under three layers - a side by side document, as identical as could be, except the part that said the _name_ of someone on the _left_ , and “anon donation” on the _right_ .  
  
What had she stumbled on?  
He was the authenticator . . . _right?_

Like he restored Art Nouveau pieces, and made funny Napoleon dolls. He drank tea in the afternoon for goodness sakes - he wasn’t . . . well what would she call this, a _forger_?  
  
Then she thought of his confession - _an alcoholic, well, in sobriety now_ \- but that would explain some irrational behavior the others had seen two years ago ( _if,_ if he was drinking two years ago). Was this something he did and then drank to deal with? Or did he drink, and not feel bad about doing this? Was it just a few pieces, or - _good God, even one wrongly begotten art piece was too much._ _  
_  
But - _he seems so nice_ . He’s helping her with this thesis. And if the scribbles are any indication, then he obviously doesn’t want to do it anymore. _Maybe . . ._ she hears his footsteps returning down the hall, and quickly lets go of any papers on the board, and they re settle into place just as she moves closer to the posters he’s restoring. He walks in, glances from the empty corner chair to the side where she’s standing, and gives her a lopsided grin, “Ah you found the posters.”  
  
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid immediately replying, _‘But you’re not forging those, too, right?’_ _  
_  
Instead she shuffled against the desk a little, and nodded, “Yes, they do look nice already - I’m sure they just need a little TLC.”  
  
He opens the door a little further, stagnating for a moment, though they both know she probably needs to get going downstairs to meet the insurance guy still, “And just to let you know, if Nicky approves it, we did just a get a piece that came in, I think it’ll be a simple one to track and authenticate - maybe just a few weeks at most - in case you wanted to arrange a date and time.“  
  
She could have said something right then and there. Said no. Called him out. Or even simply goodnight and she’d get back to him. But something about the way he stood against that door, like he wasn’t sure she would _want_ to make any further arrangements, made her go against her own internal nagging not to - she felt a need to reassure him . . . and besides, what did she _really_ know here for sure? So much of it was uncertain, and so much of it was speculation - and maybe this ‘Nicky’ guy could explain some of this - besides, she really, _really_ needed this work for her thesis, “How about I text you sometime later this week to find out when I can shadow you?”   
  
His eyes looked a little surprised, but also relieved? He merely nodded, a quiet reply of “Sure - “ before opening the door further so she could step around him.

She had barely brushed passed, when he moved quickly to the corner, “Oh wait - your bag.”  
  
Nile stood in the threshold, the hallways now dimly lit due to the museum being closed. But just enough that her body cast a long shadow over his office. It must have looked intimidating, because when he stepped closer to hand it to her, he looked a little sullen, “Good evening Nile.”

Her fingers brushed against his when she took the handle from him, a strange undercurrent rumbled inside her stomach, but she was certain she was playing it well, stoic even. She didn’t want to give anything away in her look, or her voice or tone - because she was still making up her mind if this was the first, and last time she would see him, “Thank you Sebastien.”

\---

  
She had just stepped off the elevator to the basement level - which looked quite dark and even a little ominous. But otherwise barren, and empty. Just long corridors in either direction, lined with fluorescents and metal doors about every five feet apart.

Nile had taken exactly two steps, when she heard a firm, loud voice behind her, “The museum is closed.”  
  
Turning on her heel, she flashed a smile, “Oh hi - “ 

The security guard was about as cut as any man she had ever seen - and _easily_ a foot taller than her. He looked stern, and intimidating and she couldn’t tell if the gun in the holster was a real gun, or a taser. But he was already closing in on the distance between them with heavy steps while she remained frozen in place, certain she could work this out, “I have a meeting with - . . . “ _Shit,_ what was the guy’s name again?  
  
He stopped at the edge of the elevator, barely two feet in front of her, and she felt _inspected_ under his gaze. It made her extremely uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to show it, “Withhh?”  
  
 _Great,_ a mansplainer who wants to act like she’s dumb, “Well I just had one with Mr. Le Livre - and he sent me down here to meet - ”  
  
“Look little girl,” he interrupts, lifting his hand to reach for her arm, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but time to go.”  
  
She pulled back before he could place his hand on her, but otherwise stood resilient to his glare, “Little _girl_ ?”  
  
“Yeah, you’re now trespassing.”

Nile’s eyes widened, “Trespassing??”  
  
The man stepped closer, his name tag reflecting the light above them, and she read it quickly: _Keane_ . Memorizing it instantly, if anything to report him after - though what exactly was about to happen that she would _need_ to report, she didn’t know. Hopefully if she didn’t put up too much of a fight, she could find Booker and he could help her see the insurance guy - 

“ _Mr. Keane_ , she is here to see me.”  
  
If the situation hadn’t been so intimidating, Nile might have appreciated the fact that so far everyone she had run into had gorgeous accents . . . well except, Keane, his was too tainted with anger to be considered anything remotely pretty.

They both turned their heads and Nile was relieved to see whoever it was that had stumbled on this scene. 

And it didn't take a genius to put together that this must be - _Mr. Di Genova_ , her mind shouted at her: good, her memory hadn’t _completely_ left her.

“And for what purpose?,” Keane barks back, but - _Nicky, Sebastien called him, Nicky, right?_ \- well even though he was smaller, he looked the security guard right in the eye, “None of your concern.”  
  
“It _is_ my concern - I can’t just let -” he paused and shot Nile a glare that she caught in her peripheral vision but otherwise did her best to avoid, “ _anyone_ roam around down here. Merrick wouldn’t like it.”  
  
“Then take it up with him,” Nicky says resolutely, as if that was _that_ , and then shot Keane a look that surely would have killed a weaker man. Taking a step aside, he gestured his hand for Nile to come with him, instantly softening his features when addressing her, “Ms. Freeman, if you could follow me.”  
  
“Gladly,“ she mumbled, not even daring to wait for Keane’s reaction. Though she could hear his thick boots stomping off in the other direction.  
  
Nicky instantly shifted, now much more casual and relaxed - but speaking softly in case Keane could hear the echo in the hallway, “I am certain you could have handled yourself, but I didn’t like the tone he was using.”  
  
Nile clutched the handle on her briefcase a little tighter. Oh yes, she _could_ have handled it, two years of self defense classes would have given her a fighting chance - but no hand movements could stop a bullet, “Thank you Mr. Di Genova.”  
  
He led them around the corner, and presumably to what was his office - but Nile felt like she could use some water after the heated exchange and Nicky pointed out a water fountain about ten feet further down. He told her to take her time, and she walked away focusing on her breathing. _Inhale - one, two, three. Hold - one, two, three. Exhale - one, two, three._ _  
_  
_Ugh_ , she told herself to get a grip, that she was _safe_ \- and if she really needed to, she could ask Nicky to walk her to the bus stop if she _really_ felt inclined. He seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t balk at that.  
  
Because as she was walking back from two cool sips of water, there he was, standing at his office door, waving at Nile to make sure she knew which office was his with all the identical doors.

 _If Mr. Le Livre is suave, then Mr. Di Genova is adorable._

Then she smiled to herself, because it sounded like an SAT prep sentence.

But he _was_ cute in a nerdy sort of way. He gave her a soft smile, his big eyes still quite captivating even when particularly obscured behind his glasses that looked too big for his face. His light brown hair was halfway down his neck, full and almost wavy - but a small upper portion had been pulled back into a man bun that rested at the nape. His clothes were unassuming, plain even, and though she had just told herself not to have stereotypes - he looked _every bit_ what she imagined an insurance agent would look like.

* * *

Nicky had heard Keane bellowing down the hall, and quickly moved from his desk to find him looming over a young woman who though not fearful - was at the very least uncomfortable. He knew better than to imply that every damsel in distress, needed a knight in shining armor - but it wasn’t so much assumptions about Nile, as it was _knowing_ Keane.  
  
 _Madre di Dio_ , he prayed under his breath at the sight, before stepping in, resolved to send Keane on his way, even if it meant an angry call from Merrick later.   
  
Now that they were both sitting across his desk in his small office, Nicky tried not to stare - tried not to be obvious in his body language of the thoughts swirling in his head: 

_Are you okay?_

_Should we rearrange this meeting?_

_Should I backhand Keane for your honor?_ _  
_  
Well maybe that last one was more for him, then for Nile.

But either way, the silence was broken, when Nile sort of laughed - and slumped her shoulders, “Well that’s _one_ way to meet someone - thank you again for your help _._ ”  
  
“ _Non c’e problema_ ,” he shrugged it off, his lower legs swirling the chair back and forth as he got more comfortable, “Booker says you wanted to get some pre approval forms to shadow him on his next project?”  
  
Nile perked up a bit, opening up her briefcase to share a binder of information with him - and oh how he loved paperwork and research, it was the one thing he was really good at. After explaining her thesis and what kind of access she was hoping to have, Nicky felt like it was the least ridiculous thing a student had asked the museum for permission for - though that bar was set firm when five years ago, someone had requested permission to repaint over one of the faded Monet’ in storage. With neon colors. _No really._

Her eyes brightened when he thumbed through his file drawer for some background forms, explaining she would just need to pass a basic background check and get a referral letter from the university - and it would likely be all settled by next week. Though really why Booker couldn’t have just fetched the form himself he didn’t know. Surely he knew that the final decision of who was with him during the process was up to him anyways. So long they didn't’ have any sort of violent history, the liability issues were basically non-existent.  
  
Though then again, there was one small hiccup that Keane had just made abundantly clear.  
  
“I suppose Booker told you that you might have to have security with you and him while he works?”  
  
Nile caught on quickly, and the look on her face seemed resigned, and uncertain. He felt genuinely bad for her, “Would it be bad of me if I found out his schedule so you could be here, only when he’s not?”  
  
Nile chuckled, relieved, “No, that would be genuinely kind of you Mr. Di Genova, thank you.”  
  
He grinned, “Just Nicky.” Shuffling the forms once to align them nicely, he handed them to Nile, “And I wish I could find an excuse for Keane - but he’s just . . . “ Well he probably shouldn’t cuss in front of a lady.  
  
“An ass?”  
  
 _Nevermind,_ he pushed his glasses back up on his nose when they slipped down from his wide smile, “Even though I can appreciate the stress of dealing with a shoddy security system, I certainly cannot excuse the fact that he’s letting it get to his head - “  
  
“Excuse me, did you say _shoddy_?”  
  
He hoped he hadn’t mispronounced it. Even though he had been speaking English since he was in grade school, his thick accent sometimes made people strain to hear which word he was saying, “Well as much security as we have around here, I’ve had to ask the alarm company to come out three times this month - “  
  
Nile’s fingers seemed to crumple the edges of the paperwork a little, emitting a little crinkling sound, “Oh _why_?”  
  
“The feed keeps going out,” Nicky replied, wondering if maybe she was worried about safety (outside of Keane), and hoped to reassure her, “We’ve upped security just in case.” 

“Does it -,” she scooted forward in the chair, but spoke quietly, “does it go out everywhere?”  
  
Nicky raised his hands, trying to wave off any concern she might have, “No, just the filing room - Keane is annoyed, Merrick brushes it off like no big deal, and Booker says it’s not his problem the cameras don’t like him.” He chuckled, and then realized he was probably sharing a little too much information about the inner workings of the museum, “ _Oh_ I probably shouldn’t have told you any of that - don’t tell on me okay?” But even a whimsical smile didn’t change the look on Nile’s face.  
  
“The cameras only go out when Booker is in the filing room?”  
  
He wasn’t exactly sure what she was asking, but felt it rude not to answer since she was starting to look downright uncomfortable, “Well not only then - sometimes they just go out all night, too. But yes, the last three times were when Booker was scheduled in there.”  
  
She took a breath, her shoulders tense, her fingers pressing creases into the paper, “Nicky - I don’t know how to say this.”  
  
Then Nile pulled out her phone, and loaded up her gallery before walking around towards him. He had to admit he was quite curious as to what she was about to show him . . . but nothing could have prepared him for the _one, two, three, four, five_ nearly identical documents - and that fifth one was the one he had been concerned about (he had even asked a third party insurance company to scan over it, worried about the authenticity. But when they said it was clean, he didn’t know what to do). Now there were more??   
  
He could feel her shuffling on her feet beside him, pulling her phone close to her chest, worry dripping in her voice, “I’m so sorry, maybe I have it wrong - maybe it’s nothing, I shouldn’t have said anything.”  
  
“I knew it!”  
  
He cursed a string of Italian words under his breath - his right hand gliding over the edge of his hair line and pressing some loose strands into place . . . before slapping the flat palm against the desk, the action knocking over a pencil cup - and then he laughed because _he was right!_   
  
“You’re really sad about this, huh?”  
  
“Hm?” his gaze shot to hers, her sarcasm not really registering - she looked about as confused as ever about his reaction, but he only stood up, taking a seat on the desk - his feet in the chair and gestured with his hands at the irony of meeting Nile tonight, “I _knew_ it! I knew that - and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but _I knew it!”_ _  
__  
_Nile bit her lip, trying to reign in what looked like a smile, and he realized he probably looked more comical than professional - but once he shared what he had pieced together then she would understand what his excitement was failing to explain . . . “ _Wait_ \- before we say anything more, let me walk you to your car. Who knows if Keane could walk by and overhear anything.”  
  
Nile put her finger to her mouth, agreeing, and waited for Nicky to shove a few essentials into the loose, worn satchel he carried to work every day. Flipping a few switches, he led Nile out first, locking the office, and looked down the hallway in each direction before taking them out the employee entrance.   
  
When he asked which car was hers, she explained she rode the bus in, “Oh well allow me to drop you off, much safer than a city bus at night.”  
  
Nile smirked, “I’m a strong woman, I can handle myself.”  
  
Nicky adjusted the strap over his shoulder, and pushed his glasses up on his nose again, “I’m quite certain of that, but maybe along the way I could share a few things I’ve been worried about since I’ve started here? You would be doing me a favor Nile, really - it’s not a hand out, or judgment on your ability to defend yourself.”  
  
He must have said something right, because she nodded and followed him to the little blue fiat parked on the street light. Luckily, even in the city, nobody went near the nearly twenty year old car. It was probably the closest thing to his home country he owned, even the rusty parts, and thankfully if Nile had an opinion about it, she was kind enough to keep it to herself.  
  
Once inside the car, he plugged in the apartment complex address she had given him and off they went on pretty quiet streets (even by city standards).  
  
In the ten minute car ride, Nicky explained how he had noticed more and more pieces being acquired through the auction house, and though most of the time the process of authenticating could take months, even a year, Merrick’s Museum made impressive turn arounds with receipts appearing within weeks. At first he thought maybe the Auction House was just really, _really_ good at bookkeeping, but the art pieces weren’t arriving with the usual paperwork. 

When he had raised the concern with Merrick, he was brushed off and told to stick to stamping the paperwork - then the security failures on the cameras started happening - and then Booker had accidentally left an extra receipt that looked like a hand made copy, not a digital one. And it had made Nicky wonder why he had created a handmade one. He even sneaked out the copy to have it checked by a third party insurance company, but they could find nothing wrong with it, and Nicky placed it under Booker’s office door, unsure if he was really just reading into things . . . now he wondered to himself if Booker had left it on purpose for him to find - but that last part was too speculative, so he kept it to himself for now.

As Nicky pulled against the curb in front of Nile’s building, she looked ahead frustrated, “What do we do?”  
  
“What _can_ we do? I doubt Booker is doing any of this on his own. Keane must be helping with the security feed, and what about Copley’s auction house? _And_ if Merrick is ordering it all . . . “ he sounded rambly, and decided to park the car completely, before he accidentally rammed the gas pedal.  
  
Resting his head back he stared down the dark street for a moment, “We would need more evidence - most of what we are thinking could still be considered circumstantial. What did we really stumble on - are we talking art forgeries, or forgeries of receipts and documents so the museum could hurry through, and display new galleries?”   
  
Nile shrugged, unsure herself of what they were _really_ piecing together here, “We need to find a direct link.”

Nicky agreed, but the _how_ of getting that done felt impossible to reach. Nile cocked her head, turning her upper body to look at him, and Nicky mimicked the movement, “Maybe this is why the museum pulled away from the University two years ago?”  
  
Nicky tugged at the edge of his sweater, pulling it over his wrist, a nervous habit, “Oh I don’t know - I’ve only been around for a year, but maybe they were scared of getting caught by the other researchers at the university?”  
  
Nile unbuckled her seat belt, seeming more certain now than she was a few minutes ago, “They could help us - we should meet with them.” Her suggestion wasn’t crazy at all, but still Nicky felt his heart rate pick up a little. This was more excitement than he had probably ever had in his life, “Could you come by tomorrow afternoon, and meet my professor?”  
  
He froze for just a moment, his glasses sliding down a little on his nose again, before his vision got blurry enough for him to push them back up again, “This is kind of crazy, but _yes_?“  
  
Nile softened a little, trying to give him a gentle reminder, “It could cost you your job if they find out what you’re doing.”  
  
Nicky looked back at her, grateful, but equally concerned for her as well, “And it could cost you your thesis work.”  
  
“But we should do it anyway,” was her quick reply.  
  
And it made him beam, relieved to have come across _one_ person in this God forsaken city that actually seemed to have a moral compass, “I think so, too.”  
  
They exchanged numbers, and Nile mentioned a time frame of late afternoon tomorrow. Nicky assured her he would be there, and then she gathered her things and thanked him for the ride. After making sure she was inside, he pulled out to head home in the opposite direction. It would take him an extra twenty minutes to get home but that didn’t matter. He had been _right_ , invigorated by the confirmation of his own instincts, and so who cared about an extra twenty minute drive? He wasn’t going to be able to sleep much tonight anyways.

* * *

Booker checked his phone again.  
  
No messages, or alerts.  
  
A sort of guilty feeling sank him further down into his chair, and his eyes wandered over to that dusty bottle. Her voice echoed in his mind, _‘I just won’t have a drink today.’_ He deserved one of course - for managing to lie so well. _Again_ .  
  
He told himself just _one_ more - one more little lie to reveal a bigger truth. He justified it as soon as Nile had first reached out to him. Before then, he didn’t know what to do about Merrick keeping his balls in a vice. He burned too many bridges with his friends _and_ the University - and with how Keane was up Merrick’s ass, Booker couldn’t tell who else was doing Merrick’s bidding . . . he groaned: _I’m doing Merrick’s bidding, too_ . (sometimes what you hated most about someone, is what you really hated about yourself - at least that seemed to be a popular retort in those self help books he’d been reading the last few months).  
  
He had _almost_ revealed things to Nicky - but too many eyes were on him already. Nicky had stumbled on the right answers, but hadn’t asked the right questions - shot down far too fast by Merrick when he had raised concerns last month about some documentation Booker had forged.  
  
Then Keane - _gros con [ dumbass ]_ \- had actually _erased_ security feed from Booker’s time in the basement with that last piece (surely under Merrick's orders) . . . _which why wouldn’t a smart guy like Nicky figure that out?_ But so long Merrick could keep everything in house, the boss thought he could control it. No, if Booker wanted this to end, he needed someone from the _outside_ to see what was happening.  
  
But still, he was a coward. _A lying coward._  
  
When Nile reached out, he saw it as a sign from a God he only reached for when he felt like reaching for that dusty wine bottle. His mind put the pieces together so quickly he responded to her within minutes. If he laid it out - subtly - and left her alone in the room, would she put it together? Would she take the information to Nicky, would they realize what was happening, and Merrick could go away.  
  
But still, he was the one who did the work - the forgeries - _and the rich guys never go to prison_. With Keane erasing footage of it, maybe he could avoid prison time too. Maybe he could make a deal with a prosecutor in exchange for testimony. _Maybe maybe maybe_. But he couldn’t take that risk. Couldn’t fall on his sword like that. 

He was a coward when he fell in a bottle. 

A coward when he left the University without goodbyes. 

A coward when he allowed Merrick to pay him more money than he had ever seen in his life. And a coward for _still_ doing it. 

He wasn’t the hero in this story. He was going to let them fix it. He just laid out the bread crumbs.  
  
Though there was the other half to consider - the part of him that had hoped Nile might come back. Maybe it would take a few trips, and a few meetings, and a few bread crumbs placed discreetly in front of her for her to realize. 

Maybe he’d have to put a fake ring on his phone _again_ to excuse himself from the room. She did seem friendly. And he had forgotten how nice it was to talk to someone when you’re sober. Even if it was under false pretenses.

It was just as likely she _did_ see the forgeries, was talking with Nicky now - and he’d be fired in the morning by Merrick, and never see any of them again. 

All he knew was he couldn’t keep going the way he was. Sure he wasn’t the hero, much less the responsible one, but he wanted more from life than _this_ .  
  
He sank his head back against the chair and looked up at the ceiling, watching the light from the sun set filter and flicker as it passed behind him.  
  
It wasn’t until his office was dark that he sighed and decided to practically flop out of the seat and head out. He did what he could, and who knew what tomorrow would look like . . .

As he shuffled a few pieces of paper in a file folder to take home, he spotted Nile’s tea cup still on the window sill. There was still a little tea at the bottom, and he picked it up to wash off in the small corner sink on the cabinet. Tipping the contents out into the basin, he spotted the imprint of a rose colored lipstick stain on the edge of the cup.   
  
Why did he even tell her about his sobriety - _what a weird thing to start a conversation out with, with a stranger no less_. Or maybe it’s because he hadn’t had anyone to share that with. It was the first time he spoke it out loud, and she felt safe to say it to -  
  
 _One day at a time -_ like she had encouraged him earlier.  
  
His thumb traced over the stain lightly, smearing it a little, before he decided to place it in the cupboard unwashed. He doesn’t even really know why. But somehow, the smeared remnant of lipstick on his skin makes it easier to return to his empty apartment that night.

* * *

**Notes:** Hope you liked it! Kudos and comments appreciated! Give me your theories of what you think Booker is up to - and what the future might hold ;)  
And also, next week - Joe meets Nicky, and it's basically that meme of Nicky tripping in front of him, and he's like, "That one - I want that one."  
AND more of Quynh's backstory - where was she for five years? What made her return? You won't get all the answers just yet, but some definite hints :) And of course, more AndyxQuynh because it's what we deserve!  
  
 **ALSOPLUSALSO** \- you guys, is it kind of insane that two seconds after being alone in Booker's office Nile pieces together a huge forgery ring at Merrick's Museum? Or that Nicky is the knight in shining armor, with the only flipping moral piece of backbone in the entire institution - and that about two minutes after meeting, they become a tag team of social justice warriors?? YUP it is insane - but let's go with it, okay? OKAY.  
  
 **And lastly -** for some people, Booker sharing about his sobriety like two seconds into meeting someone sounds awfully strange. Sobriety can look as different as the individual struggling with it, but for some people, as they form new (hopefully more authentic relationships with the people around them) - a recovering addict can sometimes feel a strong need to be more honest than they have been in the past (due to that addiction). Sometimes it's for more personal reasons, sometimes it's as simple as sharing that so the person knows their triggers and does not (for example) invite them for a drink after work. Again, how sobriety is handled is a very personal road of self discovery, and Booker's on it right now. Just felt the need to address that, in case there are some confused/concerned comments ~


	4. Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile and Nicky present the evidence they have - and Nicky meets the team (and gives Joe heart eyes).  
> Plans are made on what to do next in order to bring some restorative justice to the museum ~  
> . . . and the Friendsgiving guest list gets a plus one.

_**"The purpose of art is to lay bare the questions that have been hidden by the answers." - James A. Baldwin** _

  
Setting: Bythewood University

* * *

  
Joe rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes, and stretched his legs out under his desk. With another day of teaching done, he pushed his back into his wooden chair and lifted his arms above his head with a groan. He wasn’t usually this worn out feeling, but he hadn’t slept well the night before, and so really most of what he was dealing with now was emotional versus physical.   
  
Today wasn’t Nile’s day for TA work, so he hadn’t seen her yet - but he was surprised when she didn’t text him _anything_ last night about the meeting with Booker. And then he spent most of the night lying in his bed wondering and processing _and just blah_ . . . Peeking at the clock to his left, he saw that Nile should be arriving any minute. His last class of the day had finished a whopping ten minutes ago, but he didn’t require a lot of downtime - in fact, had Nile insisted on waiting _any_ longer to give him an update, he might have just started pulling his hair out.

“Hey Joe,” he whipped his head towards the door, and saw her standing there with - well, he didn’t really know how to label that look. It wasn’t sadness, but apprehension?   
  
“That _fucker_ ,” Joe pushed away from his desk, “what did he say to make you look like you’re hesitating to tell me - because if he - “   
  
“What?! No - _Jesus_ , Joe,” Nile tumbled into the classroom, the braids she normally kept down, piled into two adorable buns on top of her head that were _almost_ distracting him from the very real, _seething_ discomfort of all _sorts_ of thoughts swirling in his mind. Almost. She stopped just short of his desk, and gave him a firm look - the kind that said, _‘Pay attention - because I need you to hear this.’_ And it wasn’t that often that she did that, but every time she had, he learned something from her . . . this time would be no different, “I say this with love - _truly_ , but whatever hurt you got going on with this guy, whatever betrayal you’re feeling - you need to go talk to someone about it, because I brought someone with me - “   
  
Joe’s eyes widened, “Shit, it ain’t Booker is it?”   
  
Nile slumped forward, her hands on the edge of his desk, her head hanging forward in frustration, “ _Joe_ \- no, the guy just pulled up.” Pressing off, she stood up straight, and looked down at him, with more patience than he deserved, “His name is Nicky, and I need you to take a few calming breaths because this is important.”   
  
She literally could _not_ have left him more confused - when she got a notice on her phone, checked it, and said she was going to walk him back to the classroom so he didn’t get lost - . . . _but what about Booker, and the meeting, and who the heck is Nicky??_ _  
_ _  
_ Nile was already halfway across the room when he took the third calming breath, before standing up quickly to circle around the desk, “Nile, what the heck is - “   
  
She turned on her heel, far more playful than Joe’s nerves could handle at the moment, and ignored his question completely, “Oh and just so you know - he does have a thick accent."

Joe’s frow burrowed, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Nile ignored his tension completely, " _Touchy?_ I _only_ meant some people can struggle with accents at first, especially if they aren't familiar with them - that's all. Figured I’d give you a heads up so you could make sure to pay attention to his voice.” Then she smiled again as if recalling a fond memory, “I personally think it sounds lovely."

He was familiar with accents - his own parents’, Booker’s French one, Quynh’s Vietnamese one - but if Nile was saying to perk up his ears and pay attention, he must be from somewhere unfamiliar to his auditory sensitivity.

Joe sank back on his desk, balancing against it, because the confusion and the emotional exhaustion since yesterday left him downright drained now. He really had _no_ clue what the heck was going on anymore, and wiped his hands over his face, trying to recenter himself a little, "What country is he from?" 

Nile’s voice sounded further away, like she was already halfway out the door, "Italy."

And then she was gone - just like that, surely returning within minutes, but any hope he had of getting some sort of even vague update on Booker felt unreachable. And once the anger had dissipated, he was left alone with the underlying emotion, the real source of it all: _pain_ . The guy didn’t deserve his energy thinking of him, Joe reasoned. But _dammit_ the awful truth of it all, wasn’t so much that he was _angry_ at Booker, but that he _missed_ him. He missed his friend - the guy he watched the game with on Sundays. The one who liked to play cards with him after class. The one who helped him keep his French sharp. And the one who made him laugh till he cried (when usually Joe was considered the funny one of the bunch).   
  
Even now, even after two years, he didn’t know why Booker left, and why he never returned any of his texts. Though admittedly he had stopped reaching out after the fifth unanswered one because he needed to remember that _no response, is a response._

He needed to take a walk - just for a minute, just to get the blood pumping and the endorphins going because it was starting to feel a little overwhelming. Joe shot Nile a quick text to bring this Nicky guy to his office down the hall, and then he literally jogged to it hoping to get some sort of adrenaline rush - and if that didn’t work, he’d grab the five hour energy bottle he stashed in his drawer weeks ago.  
  
He had just barely finished catching his breath, leaning back on the much more comfortable desk in his office, when Nile knocked on his door and opened it.   
  
And well, if he had wanted to get his heart pumping - the sight of Nicky did it.   
  
The man sort of tumbled in behind Nile as she held the door for him, his arms full of thick folders, and trying to balance a satchel bag that had definitely seen better days over his lean shoulder. His big round glasses balanced precariously on his nose, as if they would slide off at any moment - but it did give Joe a clear line of sight to his eyes, which looked like the color of the ocean. When he stepped passed Nile, he was doing his best to avoid brushing his body up against hers, and sort of dipped his shoulder _just_ enough for the strap of the satchel to pull down at the wide neckline of the ridiculously large gray sweater he was wearing. Only for it to reveal his left collarbone, and a flexing muscle that _twitched_ just beneath as he tried to steer the strap back up.   
  
_Holy.shit._   
  
He was glad he was already leaning against the desk, otherwise it might have been obvious the effect this stranger's presence was having on him. Joe gripped the edge of the desk a little harder, his knuckles turning a white before Nicky had made it over to him. His hands were so full that he sort of waved at Joe versus extending a hand to shake his - but then Joe realized he was _still_ gripping the desk - and having failed to extend his own hand, had likely inadvertently implied that he would not _want_ to shake Nicky's hand.   
  
It felt like a missed opportunity - the chance to have touched his skin.   
  
“Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Al Kaysani - “   
  
_Holy heck_ , the voice too - he wasn’t just downright adorable, but his voice . . . Say something dammit, _speak_ : “Just Joe.” _Brilliant Joe, smooooth._   
  
“Oh, the sign at the door says your name is Yusuf -”   
  
The way his birth name sounded on his lips did something warm to Joe, and he almost nodded absently, before realizing he was staring - and probably should attempt to speak before it became too noticeable, “Mm yes, it is - Joe is easier for some people.”   
  
Nicky’s smile was warm, and friendly - _dazzling_ , “May I call you Yusuf?”   
  
“Always.”   
  
“What - what is happening here?,” Joe heard Nile laughing a little nervously off to the side somewhere, like she was interrupting a moment, and in a way - she was.   
  
“Pardon?” Nicky looked at her, like he hadn’t quite caught her meaning - his profile now on full display, and that's when Joe noticed the flipping man bun at the back of his head. Instantly his mind thought about what it would feel like to tangle his fingers among the strands and pull it back till Nicky was looking at him again . . . 

_Calm down Joe, calm the eff down._

Pushing himself off the desk to stand straighter, he realized he was just a smidge taller than Nicky. Not like that really mattered one way or another, but he did have all sorts of thoughts swirling in his mind of this man's gorgeous eyes looking up at him.

“Well - Nicky and I thought we could share some of the evidence we brought with you," Nile’s reply brought a screeching halt to Joe’s heart - and he finally pulled his gaze away from Nicky . . . 

"Evidence?"

Nicky placed the stack of files on the nearest chair, unslung the bag to the ground and with Nile’s photos (and translations she did the previous night of Booker’s handwritten notes) - as well as Nicky’s forms, documentations, _and_ receipts . . . well they managed to lay out a fantastic case of art fraud happening at Merrick Museum - and how Booker was a part of it. 

Once it was all done and said, Joe slumped back against his desk - he didn't know if he should be angry at Booker or feel sorry for the guy. _What has he gotten himself mixed up in? How did it get to this?_

"Joe I'm sorry, I know there's a history there but - "

Joe raised his hand, not in a "please stop talking" sort of way, but in a "please, just give me a moment to breathe through this" way. He felt - he _felt_ . . . too much of something he couldn’t even label. And a sinking sensation that was dragging him down, like wet cement.   
  
It was Nicky’s voice that had managed to cut through the fog, "Yusuf - “

No one outside of his own family ever called him that in America. There was a longer story to that, but basically seeing as it sounded almost _unfamiliar_ to hear it at the university, it had reached down deep within him and had dragged him back to the surface. Back to Nicky and Nile, the latter looking downright worried for him. He felt the need to reassure her he was fine - if only because he needed to tell _himself_ he was fine, too, “Sorry, it’s - just, _a lot_ .”   
  
He gave a weary, lopsided grin as he straightened himself back up, “Am I the lucky first one to hear about this?”   
  
Nile nodded, but Nicky remained silent - though he could feel the Italian’s eyes on him. Joe rubbed his hands together once, then brought them up to rest his face within the palms, “I guess - well I guess we should talk to Andy and Quynh next?” Honestly, he didn’t even know _what_ the next step to do would be, but surely Andy would have some idea (or fifty).   
  
“So you think it’s definitely worth something to look into right? Like Nicky and I aren’t overstepping or - “   
  
Joe looked at Nile, as serious as he had probably ever been with her, “You are _absolutely_ right to have brought this to our attention Nile, don’t doubt it now.”   
  
She looked a little bashful - which up until then, he had never seen on her before - but if it helped her realize the amazing work she did to further look into this (whatever _this_ was), then he was happy to reassure her. And just in case Nicky needed to hear it, too, he turned his gaze to him, “And thank you Nick- _wait_ , do you say it differently in Italian?”   
  
Joe caught him flexing his hand, curling his fingertips around the edges of his sleeves, as if Nicky had been caught off guard by his sudden direct question - _glad to know the effect is mutual_ \- . . . “Nicolo.” 

Joe studied him for a moment, Nicky’s eyes were cast downwards, as if he was a little nervous - but he couldn’t tell if that was who he was, or if he just preferred to avoid eye contact in general, “ _Nicolo_.”   
  
When he had managed to repeat it with the same rolling sounds Nicky had, his eyes instantly shifted back to Joe, and he smiled at him in a way that clicked something into place he hadn’t realized he needed. One gracious smile, and he was ready to do anything to make him look like that again.   
  
“So -” Nile’s voice sounded almost giddy, but Joe was in la-la land at this point, so he couldn’t really be bothered to detect the nuances of his TA’s tone, “I’m going to go look for Quynh and see if Andy’s available, alright?”   
  
Nicky’s eyes fell away, much to Joe’s chagrin, and he finally looked back at Nile who gave him a look. The kind that said she knew _exactly_ what Nicky was doing to him - and that coy little smirk of hers didn’t help either. But he pursed his lips, and shook his head at her waving it off - because as much as Nicky’s presence _was_ shifting things off axis for him, he wasn’t about to acknowledge that out loud with the man standing next to him thirty minutes after meeting him. But he _could_ find a way to get five minutes alone . . . “I’ll pack up my stuff, too. Text me which office we’re heading into?” Quynh’s was just around the corner from his, so if she wasn’t in that one, Nile would be right back - because everyone knew if Quynh wasn’t teaching, or in her office, she was in Andy’s. That’s just how it was.   
  
Nile nodded, and said she’d be right back either way - and within seconds, he was alone with the guy who was now shuffling the papers he had brought into the satchel. It was quiet, too quiet, and though he wouldn’t have minded just standing there and examining Nicky’s body as it moved - that probably wouldn’t have done anything for the poor man’s nerves, which already seemed inclined to some mild ticks (like the sleeve tugging and hand flexing)

Joe decided on the simplest course - basic mirroring to put the man at ease. He walked around his desk, and grabbed his own briefcase to pack up some of his own items. And it seemed to work, seeing as Nicky must have looked up long enough to notice his scimitar hanging in the corner behind him.

“Nice sword,“ his heavy accentuated voice cut through the silence. 

And Joe didn’t look up, merely smirked, as he closed his briefcase - remembering something about Nicky being in charge of insurance paperwork at the museum, and so he figured he could make a little joke, “Are you about to tell me I should put it away, that it’s a liability or something.”  
  
“Hm? No, not at all - I wish I could hang mine up in my office.”   
  
“What - “ Joe exhaled, and his eyes shot up to him immediately, but Nicky wasn’t even looking at him. He was swinging the heavy satchel strap over his head by raising his arms, which lifted his sweater _just_ enough so Joe could see a slither of skin from his stomach. He prayed Nicky couldn’t hear the gulping sound his throat made.   
  
Once secured, he answered far too casually, considering Joe was clutching onto his briefcase handle the way he had clutched to the desk earlier - he’d need to check for imprint markings tomorrow, “I used to fence when I was little - actually I used to have a big collection. Sold them all except the long sword I keep at my apartment. Couldn’t part with that one.”   
  
Joe was stunned silent at first - until Nicky _grinned_ , like he was proud of that little fact, and why shouldn’t he be? They were both geeks for swords. Match made in Heaven if he ever heard of one, Joe reasoned.   
  
_That’s it, he’s hubby status now, I’m going to marry this man._   
  
Nile poked her head in, probably worried Joe had managed to seduce Nicky in the exact two minutes she was gone. _But no such luck (yet)_ . When she saw they were packed and ready, she explained that Quynh’s TA said she was with Andy - but of course - and so they decided to walk the building over to her office.   
  
It would take maybe five minutes, and as Nicky headed out ahead of him, allowing Nile to lead the way, Joe fought the urge to walk right beside him. His mind kept wavering between wanting to talk to him as they walked, or straggling a little behind so he could plot the best ways to _keep_ seeing Nicky. He decided on the latter - only because Nile and Nicky seemed in deep conversation, with Nile explaining who Andy and Quynh were, and that if anyone could help, it would be Andy.   
  
Joe wondered if Nicky would want to help them further, and if he did, if he could somehow be the point of contact person between him and their - well, shit, _investigation_ into the museum? ( _Is that what we’re doing?_ ) _Into Booker_ , his mind countered, and he pushed the thought down. Even if only for a four minute reprieve before he’d have to hear the details all over again.   
  


* * *

Quynh was sitting on the right end of Andy's desk, legs crossed, but otherwise hunched over a clipboard with a Vietnamese dragon sticker on the back. She tapped the pencil against the wood, until Andy paid attention to her (and who _should_ have looked annoyed with her - but somehow still found Quynh endearing even with the interruption), "Hello darling. Do you have time to go over the Friendsgiving plans?"

Andy chuckled, sitting back in her chair, and folded her hands over her impossibly flat stomach. _Hmm_ \- Quynh put a pin in that thought before it could move down her body . . . "Quynh, it's just the four of us - what exactly are you hoping to go over in detail?" 

But Quynh knew she was just teasing her - and moved the clipboard into her lap - before uncrossing her legs and placing her palms flat on the desk. Even now, as tired as Andy was - as overworked, and exhausted, even with shadows under her eyes - she was still so damn gorgeous. And really, they both knew Quynh could plan all the details, Andy wouldn't care, but she wanted her wife to feel included. And loved. _So loved_.

Leaning forward, Andy glanced at the closed door of her office and teased a smile when she realized Quynh had locked it, "I thought this meeting was about the Thanksgiving plans."

"Yes, it is," Quynh hovered, her hair starting to unspool from her shoulder and falling between them, forcing Andy to dip her head to the side as she moved closer, "But every time I think about it, I think about how kind you are to host one in the first place - and how my wife deserves some appreciation for her open door policy."

Andy snickered before Quynh could kiss her, and flopped back in her chair - pulling Quynh into her lap, "You give me way, _way_ too much credit."

Quynh wrapped her arm around Andy's neck, but the other hand settled over her heart, all serious now, "When a door has been closed in your face, you appreciate the open ones - don't discount yourself like that please."

Andy's smile faded with understanding, her features softening, and she leaned forward - her forehead resting against Quynh's before placing her own hand over the one on her heart. They sat like that for a moment, before Quynh pulled back, refusing to let the tears forming in her eyes to fall, "So - _anyways_ , who's in charge of what this year, that's what I need help with."

Andy studied her for a moment - waiting to see if the unshed tears _would_ fall - before seemingly satisfied that Quynh was okay after all. Then she wrapped her long limbs around her waist, holding Quynh steady as she reached for the clipboard again to take notes. Andy gave her a quizzical look, "But I thought we were catering again, like last year?"

"Too many strangers," Quynh chirped back.

"So much for that open door policy?"

Quynh just stuck out her tongue, and began scribbling down names of traditional menu options - seeing as she had never celebrated Thanksgiving till two years ago. And that first one - well that was the most painful one. 

She had only returned to Andy about six months earlier. Wounds from what she had run away from still fresh, and when Andy and Joe talked about the purpose of Thanksgiving - about family gathering together, from all over the country sometimes to share in food and events in their lives, well it was the first time she cried in front of Joe, and she was terribly embarrassed.

But Joe was kind in his response. He carefully rested his hand over hers - and when she reached for him, he hugged her - all warmth and kindness. And Andy, dear sweet Andy held her from behind, whispering words of love and affirmations in her ear in between sobs. It went on for minutes, before Quynh asked if they could have their own version, just them.  
  
And so Andy ordered a Thanksgiving kit from the grocery store, popped open a wine bottle, and it was Joe's turn to shed a few tears when he lamented about how Booker should have been there - but also that it was his own fault he wasn't. 

Quynh returned the courtesy, her hand over his (though he remained firmly seated, avoiding any further contact) as he tried to share just how painful it was that Booker had practically disappeared from their lives just a few weeks before Quynh appeared. Andy was silent during that exchange though, she had her own feelings still to process about him.

Last years was better, and Quynh was ready to embrace the Friendsgiving idea - where it didn't matter if you were related by blood or not, you were welcome at their table. Nile had just started working as Joe's TA, and once she shared she couldn't fly back to Chicago for the weekend, she sat in Booker's seat - and it helped ease the ache that Joe had carried. She didn't replace him of course, but it was better than staring at the empty chair. And Nile brought a whole different dynamic to their little family - like a breath of fresh air. She welcomed them into her life as easily as they had welcomed her.   
  
But still, the buzz of caterers had taken some of the intimacy out of the night - so this year, Quynh thought everyone could bring their own thing, a potluck style gathering.   
  
_Knock, knock._   
  
“Speaking of open doors,“ Quynh hummed in a sing songy sort of way, before scurrying out of Andy’s lap - and heading towards her door. Andy was straightening out her pants leg when the door was opened and stood up to greet whoever was on the other side.   
  
She looked just as surprised as Quynh was to see Nile and Joe - and a stranger between them. Nile could tell by the locked door that they were probably having a moment and seemed to be gesturing a silent apology behind the stranger’s shoulder, while Joe looked a little - well, distracted?   
  
But the stranger, with his far too big sweater, and straight as a board posture merely extended his hand to Quynh as Andy stood up to stand beside her, “Hello, I’m Nicky.”

* * *

  
Nile felt terrible for interrupting, she knew how crazy their schedules were - but she had been so desperate for some insight on these insane facts - that once she knew Quynh wasn’t in her office, it was easy enough to just head to Andy’s office knowing she’d be there.   
  
But still, she should have texted them on the way at least. Now Nicky piled in, followed quickly by Joe who seemed to move every time he did - like a shadow. Then again there were some pretty well, _flirtatious?_ moments happening in Joe’s office (well at least, from Joe) . . . she knew Joe was gay, he had mentioned one or two boyfriends by name from the past. But she didn’t dig into his personal life, and thank God, he extended her the same courtesy. She didn’t want to assume Nicky’s sexuality, but with the way he seemed to be oblivious to Joe’s stares, she doubted anything could actually happen. _Too bad though, they would look awfully cute together._ _  
_   
After he shook Quynh’s hand, Nile explained in response to Andy’s quizzical look, “Um, yes - this is Nicky Di Genova, and he works at the museum.”   
  
Andy’s eyebrow arched in a way that made Nile shiver, she automatically distrusted the guy, but Quynh merely stepped forward, smiling as usual, “You work with Booker then?”   
  
“Well - “ Nicky looked down and tugged at a loose string of fabric he just noticed peeling away from the hem of his sweater. Joe smiled as if it was more endearing than some sort of nervous habit.   
  
Nile chimed in, already reaching for her phone, “Well that’s why he’s here - he has some concerns, and after meeting the guy, I do, too.” _The guy_ , as if the memory of his little blond strand falling over his cheekbone hadn’t haunted her dreams last night.   
  
Andy looked a little confused, but certainly interested and gestured for them to take their picks of seats available. It took a good ten minutes to lay it all out - the pictures, the translations, Nicky’s paperwork and trying to trace things back as well - his statements about the security feed. Since this was the third time he was sharing it, he sounded much more confident, then when he had slammed his fist on his desk the previous night and shouted, _‘Knew it!’_   
  
Considering how much Joe seemed to have some anger issues towards Booker, he remained oddly quiet during the whole thing this time around. Listening to Nicky talk, and even closing his eyes at one point - _oh boy_ , Nile thought. Finding it both cute, and a little sad, since it was all happening without Nicky even noticing.   
  
Afterwards, when Nile and Nicky shared about Keane, and Merrick - and then the Copley Foundation to boot - well everyone agreed that _whatever_ Booker was doing, was definitely not a one man job. He was culpable of course, but there was a much bigger picture happening here. Somehow, everyone agreeing that Booker was _not_ the criminal mastermind felt like a relief. But she wasn’t ready to admit _why_ that was, out loud or to herself.

“Nile,” Andy looked up from Nile’s translations from last night, “how did Booker seem when you met with him, nervous? Did he ask about us?”  
  
Joe finally looked away from Nicky, his gaze now focused on her, and she didn’t really know which one Andy and Joe would want to hear more (him asking about them, or not at all) - so she stuck with the truth, “He didn’t ask - he seemed _tired_ ? Um - “ She was going to share her theory about the sobriety, but realized he had only told her that in a moment of vulnerability, it wasn’t her information to share. And maybe this wasn’t either . . . but this was more than a moral issue in her mind - even if they weren’t sure _what_ exactly they had stepped in.   
  
“Well forgery is probably a pretty detailed job, lots of long nights,” Joe’s voice sounded a little strained, but nowhere near as angry as before when referring to Booker. She didn’t know if that was because Nicky was present or not.   
  
Nicky closed his own set of information and thumbled with the edge of the paperwork, like he was thinking of probably the very same thing Nile was - if he should share his own theory, but wasn’t sure . . . “I - well Booker doesn’t confide in me or anything, but out of everyone involved, I’d like to think he’s the one least likely _wanting_ to do it. Otherwise, why allow Nile into his office with all the evidence?”   
  
_Holy shit_ , she hadn’t thought of that. Dammit, why _hadn’t_ she thought of that?   
  
Andy whistled, and _laughed_ , “Doesn’t sound like a state of the art forger does it? One of the smartest men in the country, leaving his evidence plastered to a wall for Nile to take pictures of.”   
  
Nile was starting to feel defensive, both _for_ Booker and _at_ Booker - immediate questions began to loop inside her mind: did he play her? Did he not even mean to follow through on the work she needed? . . . Then again, _was_ she going to shadow him these next few weeks, and pretend she didn’t know anything? That last question was the one that had nagged her for almost twenty fours now, and she needed to hear what they thought about that - because she certainly wasn’t able to be objective.   
  
When Andy’s laughter settled down, there was a quiet moment - like, everyone was processing, but it was Quynh who spoke up first about it, “So, what are we really saying here? Because I think we all _know_ what’s going on, but I imagine we need more evidence than this to bring up to an art fraud investigator.” 

Andy looked like a little spark had been lit in her eyes, a glean that made her look almost devious. Nile hadn’t seen that one before, it was pretty intimidating, “We’re going to get more information - as much information as we can get our hands on.” Quynh nodded in agreement, following her thought process, “If we can prove that Merrick is knowingly forging documentation to secure art pieces for his museum illegally then we can set things right.”  
  
It was Joe who spoke up next, once he realized what that could really mean for them, “And if we can fix this - then maybe we can restore some pieces that don’t belong in that building. Whew, the publicity alone should sink that place, plus maybe we could actually become qualified authorities again - I actually miss those research days.”   
  
Andy crossed her arms over her chest, almost beaming at this point, “And if anything, our restorative efforts could be seen, and maybe we could secure some funding for the arts programs for future research work again.”   
  
Well it all sure _sounded_ nice, but Nile needed to know more than vague details. She needed something more concrete than what they were merely hinting at, “And how are we going to get this information?”   
  
Andy looked beside her, gesturing her hand out from the crook of her arm, “Quynh and I can go over every research project Booker did for the museum while he was here - for all we know, maybe Merrick asked him to forge something while he was still working here, then hired him from there? I doubt he left anything obvious behind, but it’s worth a shot.”   
  
“Nicky,” Andy turned her attention to the introvert, who straightened back up again under her gaze. Though any malice she carried for the man’s employment status was long gone by now, “Do you want to help us further?”   
  
“Yes,” came his immediate reply, and even Nile couldn’t help but bite her lip at the way Joe beamed behind him.   
  
Andy unhooked her arms, sounding a little more serious now, “Even if it could cost you your job?”   
  
“It’s the right thing to do,” he sounded more sure of himself in that moment then he had been since they went into Joe’s office. Joe meanwhile looked like he was falling in love . . .   
  
“Well you probably can’t do too much in your office, too easy for people to stumble on what you’re doing,” Andy reasoned, and Nicky nodded in agreement, “but do you think you can bring some of the forms over the last year - the ones Nile took pictures of, whatever you have on file - here? Maybe you and Joe could go over them in his office over the next few weeks?”   
  
Nicky looked like he was trying not to look excited about it, but Nile could tell he was by the way he clutched onto the satchel strap - like he was trying to keep his hand from slamming on Andy’s desk like he had done to his own the day before. And shouldn’t he be excited? He was right, knew it, and finally someone - a whole room of someone’s - didn’t dismiss what he _knew_ . Not only that, they wanted him to be part of taking this operation down, of fixing it. With a broad grin, Nicky shook his head, excitement obvious in his voice, “Yes, of course, _grazie_.”   
  
Then he looked back over his shoulder, like he just knew Joe was still there, and must have given her professor the same look - because he froze, barely able to nod when Nicky quietly suggested they should exchange numbers in order to arrange some meeting times.   
  
Nile had never seen Joe so off kilter before - he was charming, and brazen, and loud and funny and quite sure of himself (but not in a cocky way). It was just his loud personality. But this, the way he softened and went quiet around Nicky was . . . adorable.   
  
“And Nile,” Quynh caught her attention, and she turned to look at her, “I don’t know how you feel about it - but, do you want to meet with Booker again? If he is trying to send a message through you, it might make sense for you to be his shadow for a little while - maybe he’ll pass along more messages?” Nile wondered for a moment. Was that possible, that he was trying to pass along a message? It left doubt though about the legitimacy of their potential work together. And she said as much, needing to hear some reassurance from their little team.   
  
Andy stepped a little closer, looking quite serious, and making it clear she understood Nile’s concern, “I doubt he’d do a forgery right in front of you - the piece he’d have you shadow could still be used for the thesis, I’m sure of it. But only if you’re comfortable with that of course. I know we would be asking a lot of you with this. Even potentially lying to his face about what we are doing here until we have what we need.”

Could she lie to him so easily? It left a bitter taste in her mouth, and a sinking feeling in her stomach. It didn’t sit right, but maybe if they just focused on the authentication process, and just never brought up his work outside of the room (or the university) . . . maybe it wouldn’t _feel_ like lying.   
  
“And once we have all the evidence? What do we do next?” before she could take part in potentially reigning down all kinds of legal trouble on Booker, she wanted to know what the team _wanted_ to happen - it would help her decide how complicit she could be overall in it.   
  
“I think we should confront the Copley Foundation - see if they’re a pawn of Merrick’s, or just as guilty. Depending on how that goes, we’ll know who to contact next,” Andy was impressive when she had the opportunity to lead like this, thinking so quickly on her feet, but also sounding so calm, and collected - while Nile was ready to bite her nails down to the nub.   
  
She mulled it over instantly. _Just a few weeks_ \- research for her thesis, and then, saving art from a corrupt museum . . . _sure, this is fine_ , as she imagined herself like that dog meme surrounded by flames from all sides. She could do this, no biggie. It was the right thing to do, and she’d keep her personal feelings out of it. _Easy p e a s y._

Nile nodded, and Andy started asking Nicky for his number so they could all start exchanging contact information.  
  
And though she doesn’t say it out loud, not even really to herself . . . she wasn’t just doing this to go along with it. She _wanted_ to see Booker again - and personally tuck the next loose strand behind his ear.

* * *

  
 **BONUS SCENE**   
  
That evening, with thoughts from the day swirling in her head with a sort of buzzing sound - Nile debated whether to text Booker.   
  
Nicky had said that he would fast track her background check, Andy had written the referral letter for her right then and there, and she could be seeing Booker in just a few days. She _should_ reach out to him, and start suggesting times if only so he could make arrangements. He was doing her a favor after all. _Ugh_ , that only made her feel worse.   
  
Then her phone beeped. 

Part of her had hoped it would have been Booker’s name that lit up the screen, but instead it was a group chat notification. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She settled on the middleground of curiosity and swiped at the screen.  
  
It was a message from Quynh - and Andy, Joe, Nicky, and herself were tagged in it.   
  
Quynh: _“Hello team!”_   
  
Nile tried not to roll her eyes, only because she could literally imagine Quynh laying next to Andy, and texting everyone “The Team” like this was a belated group project - and not a far more serious cause that could have long term legal consequences for everyone.   
  
A second message from her popped up quickly.   
  
Quynh: _“I’m trying to finalize the Thksgng plans -_

 _Nicky - do you have any family around here that you will be visiting for the holiday?”_   
  
Nicky: _“No :) They’re all in Italy.”_   
  
Quynh: _“You should come to our Thanksgiving dinner in two weeks._

 _4pm at Andy’s.”_   
  
Nicky: _“I wouldn’t want to impose :)“_ _  
_   
Joe: _“Impose away :D”_   
  
Nile smiled for the first time that night - Joe couldn’t help himself it seemed. He was going to be spending quite a few days over the next several weeks with the guy already, and yet here he was encouraging him to come over for the holiday dinner like he’d been around forever. It was pretty sweet to watch unfold.   
  
Nicky’s text bubble popped up, those three gray dots that said he was typing. Then it went away, then it came back again. Like he was trying to figure out how to respond.   
  
Nile realized she hadn’t contributed to the conversation yet, and maybe Nicky needed to hear that she was okay with it, too - in case he thought Quynh and Joe were just being kind,   
  
Nile: _“I think it would be great if you could come :)”_ _  
_   
Nicky’s text bubble responded right away, _“Thanks Nile, I will. Should I bring anything Quynh?”_   
  
Joe: _“Your presence would be more than enough.”_

Nile _did_ roll her eyes that time - but with a smile, _easy Joe_ , _you’re going to give him a heart attack._ _  
_   
Quynh: _“Joe! xD_ _  
Nicky - can I put you down for a bottle of wine? _

_Joe - would you bring a fruit platter?  
Nile - a pumpkin pie?” _   
  
Joe: _“Sure”_   
  
Nicky: _“Of course thank you for the invite.”_   
  
Nile: _“Yup, will do - night everybody!“_

  
After the last twenty four hours, with emotions all over the place, and probably _way_ in over her head - she turned her phone off completely. Because this had to be the weirdest conversation she could have ever had with a group of people to end this crazy day.   
  
And tomorrow, she would still need to text Booker.

* * *

YOU GUYSSSS I only meant to update this fic once a week, and it keeps pouring out of me xD  
Adorable!Nicky and Professor!Joe will be couple goals (duh, but it will take a few weeks of research first).  
Also, any guesses as to what Quynh's backstory is? And what kept her away for five years?   
  
_**Next time:**_

The undercover research is in FULL FORCE - but it will basically be a FLUFF chapter of epic proportions:

Nile and Booker grow a little closer - and 19th century literature and pumpkins abound

Nicky and Joe get to know one another -and there will be some Yusuf and Nicolo references ;)

AND Friendsgiving for the ultimate domestic Found Family Trope  
  
. . . and _then_ we'll be heading to Copley's office after that!  
  
 _Kudos and comments appreciated <3_


	5. Friendsgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of relationships are established, while Booker's "work" is examined under a microscope.  
> And as a meeting with Copley is looming, the found family finds time to celebrate Friendsgiving - even if it only confirms a few things that some have been ignoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience as I working on this chapter - it's DOUBLE as long as the previous one, but I really wanted to help establish the beginning of some pretty cute scenes between JoexNicky and BookerxNile. And y'all this chapter is SO SWEET it'll give you a toothache by the end . . . because the next chapter is going to get DARK with Quynh's AND Booker's backstory, and I'm hoping I'll give y'all enough endorphins to hold you over when you read the next one.

**"The purpose of art is to reflect new emerging values and to define the new heroes and heroines so that people can absorb them into their perceptions." - Edward de Bono**

* * *

**Bythewood University**

Nicky tapped the steering wheel of the fiat, enjoying the sound of his own rendition of _Un'emozione Da Poco_ as he pulled into the guest parking lot. Wrapping a Hufflepuff themed shawl around his neck exactly twice before knotting it in the front, he turned the car off and tucked the majority of his hair in the woolen beanie. It would take a good few minutes to cross the courtyard to the art department and in the three days since that life changing meeting, it had dropped at least ten degrees. And his body was still getting used to the New England winters - though at least it wasn’t as bad as last winter, when he didn’t even own a pair of gloves for the first week, till he realized the snow wasn’t going anywhere for awhile. He wasn’t ignorant to local weather patterns, just hoped that God would have pity on the Italian expat.   
  
Grabbing his satchel bag, he fitted it over the long trenchcoat, and braced himself for the brisk late fall air that hinted at a stiff cold wind coming soon enough. Still, he was downright giddy - because he felt like a spy, and Nicolo Di Genova would never have believed growing up that he could have _ever_ been cool enough to become a spy - but here he was, having smuggled out the first concerning set of documentation from the large archive rooms. He figured one set at a time for the next few weeks - just in case somebody noticed too many pieces missing.   
  
Stepping out, he shivered instantly, and shoved his fingerless glove-covered hands into the deep pockets before scurrying with quick shuffled steps across the courtyard.   
  
After that night, and an impromptu invite to something called “friendsgiving” which Nicky later looked up - and thought was an endearing idea for Thanksgiving - he heard exactly once from Joe, where they had decided on today’s time. He seemed quite the interesting man - and he liked the idea of picking his (likely) smart brain over the next few weeks as they poured over the documents. He’d only been in the country for a year, stuck in the basement of the museum’s offices, and between work and a little bit of culture shock (ok, a _lot_ of culture shock), he hadn’t really had long conversations with - well anyone.   
  
He was badly out of practice, but felt quite welcomed by everyone at the university - and Joe especially. Taking one fast stone step at a time, he was unaware of the building’s heavy door swinging open till he had reached the top.   
  
“Good evening, Nicolo.”   
  
“ _Cazzo_ ,” Nicky sort of stumbled on the step he had taken into the building, and slid just a little on the wet stone floor beneath him. His hands had tried to fling out of the trenchcoat to catch himself on the doorway, but instead he looked utterly ridiculous as his arms stiffly extended to the side, versus up, and now his trench coat looked like a circus tent around the lower half of his body.   
  
But he didn’t fall.   
  
Instead, Joe’s firm grip on his arm kept him up and his unsteady legs rebalanced themselves till he was fully upright again. Honestly he should have felt embarrassed for almost falling, but he had a tendency to trip over air, and was so used to it that it didn’t even really phase him anymore.   
  
“Oh I’m so sorry Nicolo, I didn’t mean to scare you - you okay?”   
  
Nicky pulled his arm back and laughed it off, finally releasing his hands from the pockets and straightening out his glasses, “ _Si, si_ , no harm done - I scare a bit easily, sorry.”   
  
Joe looked a little guilty, until Nicky looked up at him and he saw how he really wasn’t phased at all by his body almost falling on concrete, “I just thought that the building can look a little different in the dark, so I figured I’d meet you and walk you back to my office.”   
  
“That’s very kind of you, thank you.“   
  
Joe perked up a little, and then closed the door behind him before leading the way down the dark hall. After only a moment of their shoes tapping against the polished floors, Joe spoke up, “How was your day?”   
  
Nicky gave a teasing smile, “Well it was more exciting than it had been the previous 345 days - seeing as I robbed the museum.”   
  
Joe laughed warmly at that, and Nicky thought it sounded melodic, “Kind of like being a spy huh?”   
  
He was holding the door to his office open for him, waiting for Nicky to walk through first, but he was a little stunned that Joe had used the spy term - seeing as he had just been thinking the very same thing only minutes earlier, “Yeah, kind of.”   
  
Joe had laid out some coffee and water bottles and some dry snacks on a small table near his desk - which Nicky’s grumbling stomach appreciated, and as he munched on some crackers, allowed Joe to unpack the thick file of documents. It was an authentication of some William Blake sketches, just charcoal, not colored. They had been “found” in an estate sale - and “donated” to the museum. Once they were verified, Merrick decided they weren’t pretty enough for display but probably would fetch enough money at Copley’s Auction House. And they did, several tens of thousands. Nicky only had copies of the originals, so even with the University equipment, they wouldn’t be able to authenticate the actual art pieces - but they could look at Booker’s notes, and trace back his reasoning as the Qualified Authority, as well as history of the pieces.   
  
He had just finished chugging some water, when Nicky realized Joe was still staring at the third page - which were mostly made up of Booker’s handwritten notes in French. He looked utterly transfixed, and more than a little sullen.   
  
“I’m sorry, I should have removed the handwritten notes beforehand. Everything is duplicated in the final reports anyways - “   
  
Joe didn’t look up at him, merely shoved the paper face down on his desk, and muttered something under his breath. Nicky wasn’t sure what to say - from what little he had gathered, Booker used to be part of their little group, until two years ago - and had never looked back. Even though it was maybe an unfair and biased comparison (even a little naive with how little time he had actually spent with any of them), but they had been so warm and welcoming to him, that Nicky had a hard time understanding Booker’s reasoning for his end of this estrangement.   
  
Though then again, he didn’t understand Booker’s reasoning for the forgeries either. 

Or his involvement in Merrick’s schemes.   
  
Nicky didn’t like the sad look on his face, and he resolved right then and there to be a better friend and colleague for Joe.   
  
After almost two hours of researching, internet searches and using resource materials from the University’s library catalog - the Blake sketches did turn out to be fake. In fact, someone had declared them forgeries decades before they “turned up” at the museum (though that mention was a footnote in a dusty book and not added to the internet, so maybe that’s why these pieces were chosen?). Unless you looked for it specifically, it was an easy enough fact to cover up. As best as they could tell, it looked like Booker forged not the art itself, but the documentation receipts - where they had originated from, the chain of custody, how they had arrived at the museum - and so that nice little gloss emblazoned verification certificate was nothing more than fool’s gold.   
  
The confirmation felt bittersweet. 

It was eight now, the outside world looking as dark as if it was midnight, and Joe rubbed the back of his neck and groaned, “I can’t believe we got one done that quick.”  
  
Nicky flicked at pieces on the platter, and realized he had eaten most of it. He was in the middle of unwrapping the last protein bar when Joe had lifted his head and caught him, “Did you skip dinner before coming here?”   
  
Nicky took one big bite, not even caring if a fleck landed in his thin beard, “Yup.”   
  
Joe chuckled, and started packing things up, “Let me get you something to eat - “   
  
Nicky waved it off, finishing the protein bar in two more bites, “It’s late - I’ll live - “   
  
But Joe dismissed him as just as easily, “It’s Friday, I don’t have to go be anywhere tomorrow morning - let me get you some dinner, as a thank you for tonight.”   
  
“I should be thanking you,” he replied, earnestly to which Joe cocked his head as if hoping he’d explain. Nicky threw the empty wrappers in the trash can and packed up the originals he had brought from the museum (leaving the copies for Joe’s office), “This is the most excitement I’ve had in a while.”   
  
Joe guffawed, a mix of disbelief and (feeling sorry for him? Amused? - Nicky couldn’t tell), “Well then let’s really knock it out of the park and have dinner, too.”   
  
Looking down, he shook his head with a lopsided grin, pretty sure Joe was just being funny - since he seemed to like to joke around. Nicky was more subtle, usually being funny by accident. But because he was looking down, he did spot a copy of Joe’s syllabus for his class on the desk. Joe was still packing things up, when Nicky reached down and paused just before picking it up, “Mm, may I take this?” 

“It’s just the syllabus for my class - “

Nicky tucked his chin in a little, a teasing tone to his voice, “Well yeah, that’s why I want it.”

He could feel Joe’s eyes on him, and hear the smile, “Okay? Thinking of taking it or something?”  
  
Nicky shook his head, folding the paper in his hands twice, and shoving it in his back pocket, “Mm no - but I think the best way to get to know someone is by the books they read, so I figured this might be the easiest way to get some insight on you. See which books, and art you recommended for your students to consume.”

Nicky figured it was the most practical way to bypass hours of conversation, seeing as he was just really getting back into the swing of things when it came to interacting with people. But Joe laughed, like it was somehow endearing, “Would you like my Goodreads list, too?”  
  
Nicky finally looked back at him, managing to read the sarcasm in his tone, and smirked, “Do you have a printout?”   
  
Joe laughed, and the way it reached to his eyes - causing little crinkles to form along the edges made Nicky feel - happy. He knew Joe missed Booker (at least based on what Nile had said), and that this whole forgery thing was _insane_ \- and who knew if he’d ever see any of these people after the work was done. But now, right now, he enjoyed the sound of Joe’s laugh. Of having _made_ him laugh.

Following Joe’s lead, they walked three blocks away to some small shops nearby that offered far too bland food for either of their palette’s. But this was more necessity than enjoyment. And having avoided the dinner rush, they settled on an appetizer simply because it would be quicker to make - well Joe did. Nicky was far hungrier, and was willing to wait an extra fifteen minutes for a bigger plate.  
  
Though Joe offered some of his appetizer while Nicky waited, he declined, if only because he felt a little bad for eating all his snacks. He couldn’t possibly fathom eating part of his dinner, too . . . when the waitress came back with the plate, she asked Joe if he had an ID from the university for a small discount on the bill, and though Nicky was ready to dive into his plate, it was hard not to notice Joe’s teacher’s ID card on the table. 

"You put ‘Joe’ on your teacher’s ID card? Like on the syllabus, too - “ He wasn’t even really sure himself what he was asking, but he recalled Joe’s reference to it being “easier” to go by Joe, and covering his mouth, pointed at the ID with his fork as he swallowed the bite, “Do you not like your name?” 

Joe’s eyes had seemed so bright until that moment - like obsidian flickering as they moved over him - and Nicky instantly regretted asking. Like he had snuffed out a light. Joe had already finished his plate, and Nicky looked down at his, not really hungry anymore, but finding it rude not to finish. He pecked the fork at the food, pushing some of it along the dish, unsure if he should say anything else. Luckily Joe did, “I anglicized it because I thought it would be simpler. I already look different than most people around here, so I guess going by Joe seemed like one small way to not be.”  
  
“Not to be what? Different?”  
  
Joe nodded his head, and Nicky found him impossible to read - there was probably a whole lot more to all of that. More than he could likely understand. Nicky knew what it was like to be different for being introverted, for some looks at his awkward moments. He understood the frustration when people would speak _louder_ , versus more _clearly_ , when they heard his accent - as if somehow him asking for better pronunciation meant he was deaf. He knew what it was like to grow more quiet, because after repeating something for the third time, it was pointless - because the other person simply couldn’t understand him through his accent. He even understood what it was like when some people looked away from him when he spoke, as if they didn’t _want_ to talk to someone who wasn’t from around here.  
  
And yet, Joe’s background was more compounded. Not only considered different, but also Muslim, and a minority because of the color of his skin. Joe barely had any accent, much less than Nicky did. Nicky could blend in sort of, so long he stayed quiet. Joe couldn’t. And it frustrated Nicky _for_ him. Because for him, those things were on the opposite end of the spectrum to anybody who would judge Joe. To Nicky, Joe’s skin was beautiful - warm even. The little freckles peeking out from under his beard line, along his cheekbones, were precious. That his dark eyes were captivating, that his curls looked soft, that his faith was no less beautiful than his own . . . Yes, Joe was very, _very_ aesthetically pleasing (and that was all just surface observations - how much more complex and interesting would he get once Nicky got to know him even better?)  
  
But he probably shouldn’t say _any_ of that. Because in a way, that might make Joe feel awkward. American men (and from what Nile said, Joe was American with immigrant parents, and raised here) tended to be a bit prudish when it came to receiving physical compliments from other men. And besides, he didn’t want to _brush_ over it. Didn’t want to suggest that just because he understood xenophobia a _smidge_ , that that somehow meant he understood it completely. Their experiences were different, but he still wanted to offer some sympathy.  
  
“That’s kind of sad,” he meant it more like, _‘I feel sad for you that you thought you had to do that’_ , but it came out like _that_ instead. Joe’s eyes raised to his immediately, and though he certainly didn’t look angry, he wasn’t exactly looking supported either. 

_Ugh, I mucked it up_ , and he faltered a little under that stare. But Joe offered a weak smile, reading Nicky a whole lot better than he could read Joe it seemed, “Well why do you have everyone call you ‘Nicky’?”   
  
He didn’t sound angry or sad, more like perplexed? Nicky was glad he didn’t mess up the conversation after all, and cut the pasta into a smaller bite with his fork, “I like my name Nicolo - but some people don’t pronounce it the way I grew up with - and it throws me off.” He pierced the piece on his fork, raising it closer to his mouth, “So I’m okay with an American nickname of my name - but it sounds like you didn’t want a nickname, but to replace your name entirely.”   
  
Then he ate the piece, closing his eyes, because in just a few minutes he had forgotten how good it was. But Joe, _Joe_ remained quiet and when he opened his eyes again those eyes looked dark, and wet - like little tears were forming. His mouth twisted a little, and Nicky’s eyes widened, practically in panic that he was about to cause Joe to cry.   
  
Joe exhaled a deep breath, his shoulders raising a little, as his hands rubbed against his knees - trying to will himself passed the moment it seemed. Nicky felt _terrible_ , like he had said far too much, or not enough? Joe looked away, towards the wall, and took one more breath before quietly saying, “You can see right through me huh -”   
  
Nicky didn’t know what he meant with that. But when Joe looked back, he seemed more himself again, resolved even, “I can pronounce your name how you like it, right? So can _I_ keep calling you Nicolo?” 

Nicky paused his fork halfway down to the plate, ready to say _yes_ immediately, but wanted to be clear about how they addressed each other, “May I keep you calling you Yusuf?” (he almost said, ‘if only you’re comfortable with it, if only it helps you feel seen’ but decided to keep it simple).   
  
Joe smiled, _beamed_ even, “Yes, but only you.”   
  
Nicky chuckled, piercing another piece of pasta on his fork. Seeing as only Joe had managed to say his name so prettily, he waved a finger between them in between laughs, “Same.”   
  
That night, after Joe walked him to his car - to which Joe referred to as “cute” - Nicky headed to his apartment, unloaded everything in the hallway, and settled on his couch. Pulling out the folded up syllabus, he opened the laptop in his lap, and started looking up the book recommendations for the class. He didn’t like how Joe felt weird around his own name, and then with how things went with Booker . . . and Nicky just wanted to be able to talk to Joe about the things he was passionate about. To make him laugh again. Pulling up the search page, he plugged in the first book title - _better start studying up._

**That Same Day - Merrick Museum**

Booker hadn’t been fired like he had potentially feared. In fact, he didn’t hear from Merrick at all - or Copley, or Nile for several days after. And he ruminated between wondering if she had caught the clues he had left for her, or if the pendulum was still swinging - ready to smash into him at any moment.

For the last three days it had kept running through his mind. He must have been horribly starved of a genuine conversation, because he kept going over their meeting in a loop. Had he said too much, not enough?

So when he saw the notification of her name on his phone yesterday, he looked at it for a good minute, grinning because he had been genuinely, but pleasantly, surprised. It was a simple text, thanking him again for meeting her - and asking for times that would be good for him. One could even argue, the conversation was plain and diplomatic. After one or two more exchanges, they had agreed to meet today in the archive room. She would text him when she pulled up and he’d let her in through the employee entrance. It was _business casual_ he assured himself.   
  
That was, until she said what time she would come - ‘ _right after I finish helping Joe with his class’._   
  
And any thoughts of Nile screeched to a halt for a moment. He knew she worked in the Art Department at the University (which was the whole reason he allowed her in his office in the first place - hoping Andy and Joe could help him, even from a distance). And of course she would _know_ Joe - but he hadn’t realized she was his TA.   
  
He didn’t respond to that part of her message last night, just wished her her _bonne nuit_ , and put his phone on silent.   
  
Out of everyone at the University, everyone in that old part of his life, he missed Joe the most (followed _very_ closely by Andy). He missed his humor, and his laugh and his gregarious personality. Dammit, he even missed his warm hugs. When Joe shined his light at you, it felt like basking in pure joy. But Joe was also the guy who cut through the bullshit, he called it like it is, and he had gotten _dangerously_ close to figuring out what was going on with his best friend. 

He saw how weary Booker was getting, how secretive, how he pulled away - he didn’t know about Merrick, or the drinking (he saved that for home and managed to wear the “functioning alcoholic” cap well) - but he knew _something_ was up, and he didn’t shy away from speaking up, from asking him _directly_ what was going on with him at the time. And so, as usual, Booker did the cowardly thing - instead of lying to him directly, he lied in _little_ ways, feigning ignorance of what Joe was perceiving. Placating him with half hearted shrugs and emotional dismissals that everything was “fine”. 

And then the guilt set in, and he’d withdraw some more . . .   
  
It was easier to cut them off completely, than to admit to _why_ he was leaving - and even when Joe texted him how much he missed him, Joe was also honest: told him how much it hurt that he had left, even demanding to know why Booker didn’t think that he and Andy deserved _at least_ a goodbye. And he couldn’t reply, too ashamed, and unable to admit just how badly he was entangled in the snare of his own design. Oh yes, when Joe shone his light on you, it felt warm and safe - but when he shined it to reveal the truth in the darkness, it felt like a blazing, _scorching_ heat that threatened to burn.   
  
Part of him wanted to ask Nile how he was - how Andy was . . . he had heard about Quynh coming back right after he left and he couldn’t help but find it ironic. He had arrived after Quynh had left, and he left before she arrived. He _almost_ reached out to send a congratulations card when their wedding made the alumni news article he was still being mailed that first year.   
  
But another part of him knew too much time had passed. He hurt them by leaving, and one of the steps ( _stupide etape neuf_ ) he was working on was a willingness to apologize, to reach out and offer to make amends - _but only_ if it would not affect them currently. Only if it would not cause further harm - and Booker wavered on that the most.   
  
It was his burden to carry, he reasoned. _His_ responsibility, _his_ actions that got him here. Wouldn’t it hurt them to know that he was worse than they had realized? Surely they had moved on by now, and he should too. He just needed to get away from under Merrick’s vice - get out from under this, and then he could start fresh. 

And in a way - . . . maybe because he hadn’t had a genuine conversation in so long, or maybe because this was someone who didn’t know his past - but for whatever reason, Nile felt safe, like a breath of fresh air.  
  
A chance to share his talents ( _the legal ones_ ), the things he was good at, with someone who could appreciate it. Even better, _help_ her with it. With this thesis, and with the potential of the doors it could open for her. In a way he told himself that this _one_ good deed could abate the guilt of the last two years (which reasonably he _knew_ would not be the case, but he had so little to look forward to, that he clung to that idea anyways).   
  
He also resigned the idea of asking her how the others were doing through her - not because he didn’t _want_ to know (and he would be elated if she spoke of them on her own) - but because he felt bad continuing to work with her, considering he only invited her to his office to catch the clues. And she had either not noticed, or cared more about her thesis to say anything. And though he still grumbled over how to get himself out of all this, he didn’t want to use Nile like that anymore - not after actually meeting her, not after how she wanted to keep working with him. This felt like a second chance to have a genuine working relationship with someone that didn’t come with blackmail and threats. And he wanted to embrace it.   
  
He just had to figure out _how_ to put that passed, and work with her for several weeks _and_ keep himself from lying about what was going on in the museum.   
  
The pressure of all _that_ , of the impending meeting, of just _how_ he would balance it all - made him glance at that bottle on the shelf of his office:   
  
_8 months, three weeks, and one day_ , his voice reiterated. 

_One day at a time_ , her voice in his mind replied.   
  
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and walked out of his office.   
She’d be arriving soon enough.   
  
Of course when he swung open the heavy door to the archive rooms, he was surprised to find Nicky on the other side looking like he was just about to walk out, “Nicky?”   
  
He had never seen him in this part of the museum, and Nicky’s big eyes widened a little as he tugged on the Hufflepuff scarf draped over his plain trenchcoat, “What are you doing here after hours?”   
  
“Hm? Oh I was just leaving Nile’s pass in the room - for the security clearance while she works with you,” he pointed over his shoulder at the laminated card that could be attached with a clip laying on the table nearby.   
  
“Oh _merci_ \- I thought I might have had to take her to the security desk for that”, he began to walk over to it, wanting to make sure her name was spelled correctly.   
  
But Nicky’s tone shifted when he replied, “I wouldn’t.”   
  
Booker looked back at Nicky, who looked resolute, more than he did usually, “ _Qu'est ce que_?”   
  
Now Nicky looked a little uncomfortable, like he had stepped into something he didn’t mean to, and he gripped his satchel strap across his chest, “She didn’t tell you - the other night, after meeting you?”   
  
Booker didn’t like where this was going, but didn’t want Nicky to feel like he was going to kill the messenger. So he tried to keep his voice level, “Tell me what?”   
  
Nicky looked like he wanted to leave, “About Keane - “   
  
Booker felt his eyes narrowing, “What _about_ Keane - “   
  
“Oh well I wouldn’t worry about it, he’s not working tonight,” he _really_ looked uncomfortable now, seemingly trying to downplay it so he could get going, “she called me yesterday to double check and I got the ID for her and figured I’d give it to you to give to her.”   
  
“Nicky -, “ the man was looking at the clock but his gaze returned, when Booker continued, “ _why_ would she care if Keane was working?”   
  
“Keane was being an asshole, _as usual_ .”   
  
Booker felt something he hadn’t in a long time: anger. And Nicky practically threw his hands up, even taking a step closer to help assure him with his body language, “Don’t worry, I let him know she was with me and he sulked off in the other direction. I may or may not have faxed over his schedule for the next month so she could coordinate when to come here.”   
  
It did help soothe the sting, but he should have realized sending her to the basement after closing hours would alert Keane’s security team. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Nicky glanced at the clock again, obviously needing to be somewhere, so Booker tried to move on, “Thanks Nicky - she’ll be here in ten minutes, if you wanted to wait around and say ‘hi’.”   
  
Nicky smiled, and pushed his glasses up his nose, “Well actually - I have somewhere to go, but maybe next time. Do tell her ‘hi’ for me.” 

It wasn’t until after Nicky had left (and several deep calming breaths later) that Booker realized he hadn’t told Nicky he was meeting Nile in the archive room. So why was in there, versus dropping off the ID at his office? _But then again_ , Nile had probably mentioned the location to Nicky when she had asked him earlier about Keane’s schedule. Besides he had less than five minutes to get the project they’d be working on laid out, so he dismissed the thought and got to work.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he didn’t even check it, certain it was simply Nile letting him know she was at the door. He ran his hands over his hair, settling them on the back of his neck and giving the table one last glance - everything looked in place, and he straightened himself out as he went to open the door.   
  
Scanning his own ID on the security button, he pushed against the heavy metal emergency door without the alarm blaring - but a neon blue emergency light still beamed down on her and he tried not to stare. But she did look amazing . . . even more pretty than the last time he saw her, and he had already thought she was beautiful then.   
  
He wanted to look away, not be so obvious in the way he stared - but she smiled up at him, and he couldn’t help but smile right back at her. It made him think of that line in Anna Karenina, _‘He stepped down, avoiding any long look at her as one avoids long looks at the sun, but seeing her as one sees the sun, without looking.’_ _  
_   
“Evening Sebastien,” she stepped passed him, and he thought he smelled a trace of a citrus scent - one that made him think of summer, and forget all about the cold inside. Her hair was still in braids, and it swayed a little when she spun back around, “Did you have a good day today?”   
  
_It was boring as shit - until now_ , “Yes, _merci_ .”   
  
“Hmm, I love when you just randomly speak French - it sounds so pretty.”   
  
Booker laughed a little, finally closing the door, since his hand was about ready to freeze to the metal - he had sort of forgotten about it with the sight of her. Oh boy if he was this distracted already, how was he ever going to get the work done? “Thank you - um, do you speak any other languages?”   
  
“No, just a few words of random things that pop up in culture,” she spotted the table and her eyes went a little wider, an excitement that felt contagious when he followed behind her.   
  
When he caught up beside her, she leaned over the papers and binding, “A book?”   
  
“Mm, it’s a manuscript - likely from the 19th century, and has several hand painted illustrations tucked within it. It looks to be a final draft of a variation of the fairy tale _Beauty and the Beast_ , and was found inside a cedar chest, that was once housed in a publisher’s office,” he rested his hands on the table, pointing to some documentation to the right, “So that whole chain of custody is pretty easy to track with the documentation we’ve been provided. We of course will still need to track the history - so we’ll study the book, authenticate it, report on it, do some tests on it even - then we trace it backwards, compare the publishing names with what what’s on record, check notes and diaries, see if the book was mentioned anywhere, etcetera, etcetera.”   
  
Nile stood up and looked up at him smiling, and it was so bright he glanced away - feeling a strange hint of something he didn’t feel worthy of, “Um but tonight I’ll just be taking pictures of it for the report.” He reached over to the left for the white cloth gloves, “Here are some gloves if you’d like to help with that.”   
  
When she took the pair from him, her fingers brushed against his but she didn’t seem phased by that, merely fitting slender hands into the gloves before clapping them together and declaring with an excited grin, “Ready!”   
  
Booker smiled more than himself than anything else, because he didn’t want to admit the effect she was already having on him. He already felt like he would miss her in a few weeks when this work was done . . .   
  
After about twenty minutes of carefully documenting each page, and the illustrations, Booker was flipping through the camera making sure he had captured them properly. Nile was placing the last page delicately on top, when her voice pulled him out of his focused effort, “This is a great project to work on Sebastien, thank you - 19th century literature has some of my favorite books.”   
  
“Oh really,” he looked away from the camera, down at her, but she was still staring at the manuscript, “May I ask which ones?”   
  
She laughed like she wanted to roll her eyes at herself, “Oh the typical girly ones - Jane Austen mostly. Though some of the poetry is amazing, too - like, Emily Dickenson.” When she looked back at him over her shoulder, he noticed the way her eyeshadow had the faintest trace of gold specks in it, “What about you?”   
  
He looked back at the camera, flipping through the pictures he was _supposed_ to be checking, but finding it hard to concentrate, “From that time period? Hm, _Wuthering Heights_ is good, let’s see _Jane Eyre_ ? _Anna Karenina_ \- “ Then he stopped himself, since he had already quoted it in his head at the sight of her, and now feared he might let that slip if she asked him about it - _quick, mention another one you like_ , “ . . . and _Dracula_ .”   
  
He could hear his mind _groaning_ at him.   
  
“ _Dracula_ ? Sounds like you’re a big gothic fan,” she stood up and turned to face him, leaning back against the table, but mindful of getting too close to the piles behind her, “let me guess, for poetry, it’s all about Edgar Allen Poe?”   
  
_You sound depressing Booker, lighten it up a bit - make a joke, somethingggg,_ “100 points for Gryffindor.” _Brilliant_ , his mind snickered at him in a sarcastic tone.   
  
But Nile laughed, and it brought a warmth to his chest, “Oh I’m a Hufflepuff.”   
  
“So is Nicky if his scarf tonight was any indication,” _nice save, deflect deflect deflect._ _  
_   
“That doesn’t surprise me, he is very helpful,” but her smile faded a little when Booker asked her if she’s saying that because of how he helped her the other night - with Keane. 

“He told you about that, huh?” it was her turn to look away, but she recovered quickly, gazing back up at him with so much confidence that he admired her immensely already, “If he would have been unarmed I wouldn’t have minded kicking his ass.” Then she held up two fingers, “Two years of self defense classes, I can take him.”  
  
Keane, as much as Booker hated to admit it, intimidated him by his sheer size - but here was Nile, smaller than him, ready to show him what’s what at the first opportunity. Until then he had thought she was more of a nerd, like Nicky - like himself even - but he had underestimated her, and he found her ability to stand up to someone like Keane oddly inspiring (even if potentially harmful since that man never walked around without a gun).   
  
Placing the camera on the table, he smirked, “Well Keane better watch his back then.”   
And Nile seemed like she appreciated him not trying to suggest she couldn’t.   
  
As they started to carefully divide the papers into several categories, and label each bin, Booker felt curious to what Nile read in her free time, “So what are some of your favorite books?”   
  
Nile stuck a number tab on the bin, not looking back at him yet, “Mostly non fiction - but usually pretty old stuff, with a philosophical leaning - I recently read _Utopia_ .”   
  
“From 1512, Thomas More, right?”   
  
She nodded as she wrote up the second label and Booker wondered if she was some sort of idealist - with her Thomas More, and her Jane Austen. He was so opposite of that, that it was hard to fathom what her mind was like being so different than his. He found himself drawn to discover it anyhow though.   
  
“Maybe you should read it,” Nile smiled as she pressed the final label on the last bin, “might be a little less depressing than those gothic novels.” When he looked over at her, she smirked at him, teasing him to try to tell her they weren’t . . . and he couldn’t, not really. But maybe she wouldn't like that answer, “They feel familiar though.” _Relatable._ _  
_   
“It’s also nice to try new things,” she winked - _winked_ \- at him, and he looked away so she wouldn’t notice the smile on his face, as he pretended to focus on placing the camera lenses into the right slots of the box frame. 

But Nile seemed undeterred, “How about this, I’ll read _Dracula_ , if you read - hm, _Persuasion_ ?”   
  
For one brief moment, he thought if her reading his favorite books would make her realize how depressing his mind could get. How dark and gloomy. Not meant for someone like her who seemed so - _well not_ . His pause made her continue, “I can recommend something else if you prefer?”   
  
Booker wasn’t so sure if this was a good idea, but how could he get out of it without explaining it? So he feigned indifference, “What- um, no, I can do that - maybe before we meet next?” She studied him for a moment, looking for any sign of sincerity, but something must have been distinguishable because she nodded and resumed her usual cheerful disposition, “Are you ok with Tuesday? I could probably read it by then.”   
  
Nile grinned, making a sort of a self depreciating face, “I don’t know if I’ll get through _Dracula_ that quickly, but sure, let’s try.”   
  
They stack the boxes and containers in their proper space, and with one more quick sweep to make sure they had everything, Booker swiped his ID again and held the door for her. When she stepped passed him, he was a little miffed at the invading wind which blew any hint of her perfume away before he could smell it again.   
  
“May I walk you to your car? It is dark after all.”   
  
She began to explain that she took the bus, and that she didn’t mind, but he didn’t like the idea of her being on one this late at night, “You sound like Nicky the other night.” She was teasing him of course, but he didn’t want her to dismiss the idea just yet.   
  
He thumbed the keys in his hands and pointed to his motorcycle in the corner, “It’s going to get too cold soon to ride it at night, but I have an extra helmet I keep in the rear storage.”   
  
She followed his line of sight, and then whipped her head back towards him, “I do not know what I was expecting you to drive, but I can tell you it was most definitely not a motorcycle.”   
  
He wasn’t sure if she meant that in a good or a bad way, until she grinned and said she’d accept the ride.

They walked over side by side, and once reaching the bike, he lifted the small rear compartment to hand her a helmet - and dammit, she even looked cute in that, too. He climbed on first, and waited for her to settle behind him. She was careful to scoot back as much as possible, and it didn’t go unnoticed to Booker that she was avoiding touching him. Not that he had hoped she would or anything . . . When he started the bike up, Nile moved her hands behind her to hold the handle on the back, but when he pulled onto the pavement it jostled the bike just enough that she instantly swung her arms to the front, and gripped the sides of his jacket, sliding forward for a better balance.  
  
When the speed picked up on the street, her hands gripped a little tighter, now pressing in on his sides, presumably to hold herself steady. And even in the November cold, his heart was beating so furiously, that he felt nothing but warmth. 

He had never shared his bike before with anyone - Joe called it his ‘baby’ - which Booker _hated_ , but never explained because it required the backstory and he couldn't talk about _that_ , not with Joe, not with anyone. She had told him before they left that she lived in the student apartments just off campus, and though he knew there was a possibility of running into his old colleagues, he was certain it was a slim chance at best this late at night.   
  
The ride had only taken a few minutes, when she tapped him a little and pointed out which building was hers, and he pulled along the curb - kicking out the kick stand, and turning off the engine so she could climb off. He didn’t know if he should offer to walk her inside, or if that would come across . . . well he didn’t know, but either way decided against it.   
  
Once she was standing and talking off her helmet, he climbed off as well to return it to the storage box, but she held onto it when he was standing there - holding the lid open, “Thank you for the ride.”   
  
He smiled because honestly out of the _few_ things he could do for her, a five minute ride on the bike seemed trivial, “Of course - see you on Tuesday, right?”   
  
She nodded, oddly more quiet? Demure? Then she had been in the museum. She handed over the helmet, “Don’t forget to read the book.”   
  
_Oh right, the book - Persuasion._ He didn’t even know what the plot was about, “I will - good luck getting through _Dracula_ , it’s pretty depressing. Take some mental breaks between chapters.” 

She chuckled a little, and tucked one braid behind her ear, showing off little gold earrings that glimmered under the street light, “Well good night Sebastien.”  
  
“ _Bonne nuit_ ,” he replied, a little quieter than he had intended to. Probably because he didn’t really _want_ to tell her goodnight.   
  
She turned, heading inside, and he sat on his bike as if he was leaving - but he waited, wanting to make sure she was in the secure part of the building before starting the engine again. He felt oddly protective of her. For someone who had two years of self defense training, for someone who had her shit together, for someone who was functional, and validating and safe . . . 

Maybe he didn’t want to follow her upstairs to protect her, as much as he liked how she made him feel seen. Like his words mattered, gently coaxing more and more out of him.  
  
When he saw a light turn on through the third floor window, he realized it was likely hers and though he started his bike up with all the intent in the world to drive home . . . he felt frozen in place. _Not unlike Dracula_ , his mind wandered. Like some sort of undead thing, preying on a younger, naive woman who had no idea what kind of villain she was dealing with.   
  
He was just lonely, he reasoned. It had been too long since he had felt a woman’s touch - a beautiful woman, who made him smile. _Surely_ it was nothing more than some basic instinct making him confuse some hormonal reaction with - . . . with attraction.   
  
And even if - _if! Are you insane?_ \- this was reciprocated, he started this connection with a lie. He had planned on using her connections to the University, to Joe and to Andy, as some sort of inadvertent messenger for his own cowardly purposes.   
  
He _was_ like a villain, preying on the innocent, and he shifted the bike into gear because the guilt weighed heavily on him the more time he spent with her.   
  
But one quote from the book repeated in his mind as he rounded the corner: _‘I have crossed oceans of time to find you.’_ _  
_   
_Mon Dieu_ , Booker felt it like a blow to the chest - _I like her_ .   
  
He roared the engine, as if creating more physical distance between himself and Nile would abate the feeling, but in reality, he was going to be counting the days till Tuesday. And thinking of her as he read her book.   
  
But it was good he left when he did, because Joe and Nicky rounded the block a minute later - when Joe was walking Nicky to his car after their dinner.

* * *

**Friendsgiving Two Weeks Later**

In the last two weeks - Joe and Nicky had managed to go over three more projects of Booker’s. Andy and Quynh hadn’t discovered anything inaccurate with Booker’s work at the University ( _which, thank Allah for small favors_ ), but between the four they did have from Merrick’s Museum, Andy had arranged a meeting with Copley to discuss his involvement (though she didn’t exactly tell him _that_ was the reason for their meeting). It had been scheduled for a week from then, between Copley, Andy, Quynh, Joe and Nile. Nicky, bless him, wanted to be there, too - and he had worked so hard alongside Joe, he wished he could have been. But none of them knew how deep Copley was involved. Was he a willing participant? A reluctant hand? Who knew how he would handle the proof of the forgeries . . . if he was as corrupt as Merrick, he might even warn the bastard before they could finish collecting all the evidence. No, Nicky being a link inside the museum needed to be several steps removed from this part. More for his sake than anything else.   
  
Nicky didn’t _love_ the idea, but thanked Joe for looking out for him anyways. Which warmed Joe’s heart . . . though it’s not like he hadn’t been head over heels for the man since pretty much the first moment he laid eyes on him. It didn’t help that they had spent at least every other day together, hunched over books and documents, shoulders sometimes bumping - fingers sometimes brushing against one another. No, none of that helped steady Joe’s free fall into all things Nicolo Di Genova.   
  
He could listen to the Italian talk about his homeland all day - something as banal as the weather sounded like music against his ears. Discussions of the town he grew up in, felt like a window into his childhood. And the way his face lit up when he would talk about the Roman temples, and his love for his faith (and how endearing his hand gestures were, even when he was spouting his frustrations for the humans who sometimes ran The Church). 

But it was mutual, because Nicky had him opening up about _his_ faith, and asking questions about the books and art and poetry that moved him (not even realizing how much _Nicky_ moved him now). He talked more about these things than he ever had before outside of his classroom, almost overwhelmed by how fast and voraciously Nicky’s mind had consumed his syllabus and seemed genuinely interested in picking his brain . . . he didn’t seem to realize how much he was burrowing into Joe’s heart with each genuine question of his culture.

When they finished with a project for the day, Joe would take him out to eat, or Nicky would bring dinner to his office. And in those quiet moments, when they shared food with one another, and talked about each other’s days, Joe _tried_ to say it. But kept delaying it because as nice as Nicky seemed, he wasn’t flirtatious with Joe, just friendly . . . and he wondered if Nicky’s comments of how good of a _friend_ Joe was, would be the only way he ever saw him.   
  
He _almost_ told him a few days ago though, after Nicky discovered the emotionally tender Arabic poetry, and kept asking Joe to read it for him. And he did, picking the one that resonated the most with how he felt. He read it with his eyes glued to the paper the whole time, not sure if he could have finished if he saw Nicky’s big eyes realizing the words were _for_ him . . . But he had nothing to fear, because Nicky had completely missed the point that Joe was reading it _to_ him, and that the emotion in his voice wasn’t from the _poem_ , but for the deepening feelings for the man who was sprawled across from him in the chair, sighing about how lovely the language was. And oblivious to Joe’s hand flexing against the paper so hard it ripped.   
  
When Nicky discovered Joe’s talent for sketching, he asked if Joe would draw him something for when they finished with all this - and he was too embarrassed to admit he had _been_ drawing incessantly since he had met him. Pages after pages of Nicky - his eyes, his glasses, that man bun he wanted to grip in his hand. His hands, his mouth . . . No, he didn’t let Nicky look at his most recent sketchbook, and thank Allah he never asked to.   
  
They talked about swords and joked which one would win in a fight - and the thought of pinning him up against a wall with a blade under his chin was almost too much to even continue the conversation. Besides, Nicky _did_ tend to stumble fairly easily.

And they even talked about xenophobia and some of their experiences with it - but Nicky said he could appreciate that it probably was harder for Joe being a man of color, and Muslim. Joe asks him if it bothers Nicky that he is Muslim, Nicky asks him if it bothers him that he’s Catholic - then they laugh when they joke that it’s more cultural than religious at this point. Though neither wants to dismiss some difficult times between people of their faiths.   
  
“I wonder what time will eventually say, who was the good guy, who was the bad guy.” Nicky asked one time after the conversation. 

“Depends on the century” Joe had replied with a shrug.

And now, today, after just two weeks of memories that Joe knew would last a lifetime - when time moved both slower and faster simultaneously . . . where he was equally grateful and equally nervous because they were now down to just one more research piece. He wondered if had he done enough for Nicky to want to stick around? 

He tried not to dwell on it, while they were at the whole foods market a few blocks away from the University - on their way to Andy and Quynh’s - to bring that fruit platter and wine bottle that Quynh had requested weeks ago. It felt so painfully normal, so _domestic_ that for a brief moment, when Nicky’s hair brushed over his face as he inspected different wine options, Joe allowed himself to bask in it. To pretend they were together, and it felt _so_ nice he had even closed his eyes to help carry the feeling a little longer.   
  
“Yusuf?”   
  
“Hmm -?”   
  
“Yusuf, are you tired?”   
  
His eyes opened, weary to see Nicky’s worried face - and wishing he could take his hand and squeeze it and tell him the truth. But he shook his head, offering a weak smile that did absolutely nothing to abate Nicky’s concerned look, “No - just a long day.”   
  
“Should we call Quynh? I could drop these off - and bring you back home, maybe you’re coming down with a cold?”   
  
_Should “we” call Quynh -_

_bring you back “home”. . . not “your home” just home -_

Maybe he was still imagining domestic bliss. It sounded _so_ lovely from Nicky’s words . . . “I’m okay habibi - promise.”   
  
“Did you just call me baby?”   
  
Joe’s eyes widened, the cloud of bliss snapped away and he realized what he had done - and Nicky’s face was completely indiscernible. No idea if Nicky _liked_ the thought of him calling him baby, or _hated_ it - and so he retreated into his usual happy go lucky attitude, “Oh - um, ‘habibi’ - it’s just like, ‘Hey _man_ ’ or ‘good _friend_ .’”   
  
Nicky looked at him for a moment - possibly trying to discern if he was being serious or not - but Joe could _not_ declare his feelings for Nicolo Di Genova in a grocery aisle. He deserved epic love declarations lined with golden imagery and tender promises. Whatever Nicky was looking for in his face, whatever hint, he settled for his explanation and shrugged his shoulders, “Ha- _baby_ ?”   
  
If Joe’s heart could burst, he would have fallen at Nicky’s feet - and when he repeated the word for Nicky to learn the pronunciation, and Nicky said, “Ha _bibi_ ?” - Joe could have gone into cardiac arrest, only revived with the most tender kisses form his Nicolo.   
  
“Hm, yes - “   
  
“That’s kind of fun - I like that, habibi.”   
  
_Thump. Dead. Heart on the floor._   
  
The color flushing his cheeks must have made Nicky think he was looking better, because he took his word for it once he told him again that _yes_ , he really, truly felt good enough for the Friendsgiving, and Nicky went back to the bottles - picking out a lovely Italian option that he hoped the others would like.   
  


* * *

Nile and Booker had spent almost every other day together for the last two weeks. How she had managed it between her thesis work, and her TA hours she couldn't even tell you. But somehow, she balanced it and was gaining plenty of insight - and great information to add for her thesis.

And though it would probably be a few more weeks before they were finished gathering and tracing the documents, most of the work on the _actual_ book - and the artist who did the illustrations were done. Now, it would be more technical work - on computers, and phone calls, and the paperwork of it all. Technically Booker and Nile _could_ do these things from their respective offices, and email each other updates. But neither suggested that option. Instead, the plan was to meet after Thanksgiving and work out of his office together, side by side, with Nile bringing her own laptop to work on.   
  
But today was the day _after_ Thanksgiving, the day of the Friendsgiving - and she knew from a conversation a week before, that Booker had no plans to travel and celebrate either holiday. _And she knew_ better than to ask Andy, Quynh or Joe (or even Nicky) about Booker joining last minute. He still had yet to ask about any of them, so for all she knew, they could have extended an invite, and he might have declined anyway.   
  
But the thought of Booker spending both Thanksgiving _and_ Friendsgiving alone at his place - felt sad. And _sure_ , he was the one who pushed everyone away - but he didn’t do that with her ( _though maybe that was coming later?_ ) And almost unbearable thought. Instead her heart told her he couldn’t have shared all those book lists with her for nothing. Or how they had talked about her favorite philosophers, and the classical composers . . . and then how they would compare notes on everything they recommended to each other. Hours and hours of conversation. _Deep_ conversations, and even mundane ones, where she learned Booker’s favorite color (turquoise), favorite food (fries), and favorite art era (Art Nouveau).   
  
And every time they had agreed to meet again, he insisted on picking her up, _and_ dropping her off - _for your safety_ , he retorted when she first pressed.   
  
_Isn’t riding a motorcycle with a Frenchman more dangerous than a bus?_ she replied.   
  
When she explained that wearing a helmet too often would mess up her braids, he went and bought her silk scarf that very day, until she could find what she would prefer to use.   
  
Now she wore it on her wrist when she was at the University.   
  
But the only time they had spent together was _at_ the museum, and today was Friendsgiving and she didn’t want Booker to be alone, even if it was just for a few hours. She also told herself it was for practicality sake - she had forgotten all about the pumpkin pie (and the decorative gourds Quynh later asked her to bring as well). And so last night, she asked Booker if he would like to help her pick out some pumpkins at a local pumpkin patch about twenty minutes outside of the city.   
  
_A totally innocent request_ she kept musing to herself, even when her heart sped up when she sent him the message.   
  
He told her _yes_ right away, and now he was pulling up to her apartment, with a wooden crate secured to the back of his motorcycle to hold a few pieces. He looked even more relaxed outside of the museum - white shirt, slim faux leather jacket, and she was looking forward to picking his brain outside of the project they were working on. What was Booker like when he wasn’t hunched over art?   
  
_Or doing forgeries -_ her mind countered, and she pushed that thought back because . . . because it was too painful.   
  
She wore a thick jacket to stay warm on the ride, but kept it simple with jeans and boots (in case the farm was a little muddy in the changing season), and when he turned off the bike and smiled up at her walking down the steps, she jumped off the last one, and landed more gracefully than even she had planned, “Thanks for doing this Sebastien - I really appreciate it, I don’t know how else I was going to get this stuff back.”   
  
Booker waved it off, as if it was nothing, and she put on the helmet before sliding behind him. They hadn’t seen each other in four days, and without really thinking about it, she leaned forward - settling against his back, her head against his shoulder when the bike picked up speed as they headed out of the city. If it bothered him he didn’t let on. And part of her denied any deeper meaning behind it, telling herself she was just avoiding chapped skin from the air on the highway. The gentle rocking of the ride calmed her and she even closed her eyes until she felt the bike descend the ramp that led to the country roads.   
  
She pulled back just enough to take in the sights - growing up in Chicago, and now being at Bythewood, there really weren’t that many opportunities to just go into nature on long stretches of road for the heck of it. She was usually too busy. But this, _this_ was beautiful - the cold air had a thin fog rising above the pavement, and the mist spread among the trees. It almost felt like they were floating. And it made her think of that line in _Dracula_ (that she didn’t really admit how much she liked, simply because Booker had said _Persuasion_ was too sappy for his tastes), _‘I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.’_   
  
There weren’t as many cars and people as she had expected, maybe two dozen at most, but that was even better - it allowed some room for Booker and Nile to explore the farm a little bit, and she couldn’t help but take more than one pumpkin picture for her Instagram feed (though hopefully Booker wouldn’t think she was too shallow for it).   
  
“Do you want me to take a picture of you with them?,” she looked up from her screen, and beamed glad he was willing to.   
  
Though it was interesting to pose trying to dangle a twenty pound oval pumpkin in her thin arms, Booker snapped a few and she thanked him and told him to stand by the crates and sign so she could get a photo of him, too. He shook his head, saying she didn’t need one of him, “But I do, please?” He was actually still saying ‘no’ when a seasonal helper walked by and offered to take their picture together if they’d like. Nile didn’t hesitate, handed her phone over and headed over to Booker. He looked about as uncomfortable as she could imagine, and she chuckled when he groaned - realizing this was happening anyway. He quickly ran a hand through his hair, trying to pat it down from the helmet earlier, and Nile dipped her arm around his back making him still.   
  
She didn’t look up at him, just waited for his arm to come down behind her as well - and when it did, it rested on her lower back and she leaned further into him, pressing her side with his.   
  
The worker held the phone up, told them to say Cheese, and when Booker said _'Fromage'_ instead Nile’s head whipped up towards him, and laughed so hard that she thought it ruined the photo . . . until Booker - with an almost shy smile - told her she better send him a copy for what she put him through.   
  
“Whatever do you mean?” Nile teased.   
  
“My hair looks horrible,” Booker replied.   
  
Nile cocked her head to the side, examining a few strands sticking out towards the right, but otherwise he looked as handsome as ever. Then - maybe because she had spent far too many weeks thinking about it now - Nile stepped forward, lifted her hand and tucked those very strands behind his ear, fingertips brushing his skin lightly before she pulled back and turned around realizing what she had just done, “Well anyways!”   
  
But she didn’t actually finish the sentence, just headed to the small gift shop that offered seasonal food - and the pumpkin pie she still needed to buy - and hoping Booker was following behind her, because she was too embarrassed to look.   
  
It wasn’t until maybe a full two minutes later, as she was staring at the pies through the glass display that she felt Booker behind her. She could see his face through the reflection and he didn’t look like anything but Booker - not mad, or upset, or even shaken - just Booker. And she was so relieved she finally turned around and talked to him as if the whole let-me-touch-your-hair-please thing hadn’t happened.   
  
Blissfully he didn’t bring it up either, “I'm buying a pumpkin pie, do you want to help me pick one out?”   
  
Booker made a little face, and shook his head, “I don’t get the pumpkin-everything thing for fall season. Better let you pick it out.”   
  
Nile rolled her eyes and then laughed, “But have you actually had a pumpkin spice coffee before?”   
  
Booker looked aghast, as if the very idea was revolting and Nile promptly turned around to order two even though he said it was a waste of her money. They were still going back and forth about it when the barista finished with their orders and began to wrap up the large pie she had selected. Taking one in each hand, she extended one to Booker, and gave him a look that suggested he might as well take it, because she was just going to remain standing there. She was nothing if not stubborn, “One sip, please?”   
  
Booker looked resigned, but there was a slight curve to his mouth that Nile caught just before the lid reached his lips - and when he drank it, he actually closed his eyes for a moment, moved the cup away, and then took a second much larger gulp. Nile hid her large grin behind the cup, glad to have been proven right, “Good right?”   
  
Booker smirked, “Dammit, but _yes_ .”   
  
Nile paid for everything, and they went back out to field with much warmer hands to select a few gourds from the side of the barn. Once the basket was full, Booker offered to pay for them, even when Nile objected - saying she should be paying _him_ for the gas to get her to the farm. But he insisted, and called it a Friendsgiving present from him to her, a _thank you of sorts_ he called it, before heading to the cash register.   
  
She almost faltered right then and there. She knew he didn’t have anyone today, he didn’t know about her plans in a short while to meet up with the others, and yet for him, _this_ was his Friendsgiving celebration. And she felt horrible that the best she could give him was taking him an isolated pumpkin patch and forcing a pumpkin spice latte down his throat.   
  
He did want the picture though - he did seem to like that, well before she went and touched his hair. And it was so soft, too, just like she had imagined one too many times.   
  
When he returned, they walked together to his motorcycle and reattached the crate to the back. Neither of them said much, though she couldn’t begin to presume Booker’s reasoning for his quietness. He sometimes fell into them, even when they were working, and she figured it was likely just him thinking about things. _Certainly_ nothing to do with her.   
  
But for herself - she was sad to see this part of her day end, though she still wasn’t ready to admit to herself why.   
  
On the way back into the city, she clung harder to him than when they rode out, and she moved her arms from his side to circle around his chest. If he didn’t like it, he didn’t say so . . . and she closed her eyes again.   
  
She didn’t open them till she could tell he was slowing down to her apartment complex. Even now, she wished he wasn’t unpacking the box - feeling bad for lying to him when he asked to carry it upstairs for her, but saying she was fine. Worse, when he wished her a good night and thanked her for a _wonderful Friendsgiving_ , and she had to act like this was her only one today. She did mean it though when she told him she had a great time, and she did send him the picture after all when he pulled away, saying he’d see her on Monday.

Then she called Joe who was at the market two blocks away with Nicky - which boy, was that a whole thing to observe - and asked if they could swing by and help her get this box (and well her, too) to Andy and Quynh’s. He replied immediately, and said they were just checking out and could be there within minutes, which was great since the sun was setting and the wind was picking up.  
  
But a few minutes to herself did leave some time to process the day: the farm, the pumpkins, the hair, the lattes, the pictures. When she had sent it to him, it was done hastily so she wouldn’t forget, but now that she was alone, she pulled it back up to study it better.   
  
Nile thought she looked goofy - all teeth and big smiles. Leaning in towards Booker who looked, well, handsome if she was being honest. Sure there were some strands blowing in the wind, but he was smiling. She even did the hand thing where you place your hand over the person’s face, except for their eyes, to see if that smile really reached them - and it _did_ , he was happy in the moment . . . with his arm around Nile, and her arm around him. And he had felt warm and comfortable.   
  
She cropped it and put it in his contact information, just in time for Joe to pull up, “Hey pretty lady.”   
  
Even though Joe had spoken first, Nicky had gotten out faster, giving her warm smile and already reaching for the box before Joe insisted on picking it up instead.   
  
Nicky chuckled, “Ah well thank you _habibi_ , that’s kind of you.”   
  
And Nile’s eyes almost bugged out of her skull as her head whipped past Nicky’s shoulder to stare at Joe - who shot her a look like, 'Please don’t say anything, _please._ '   
  
Nicky took a few gourds from the top, to make the load easier, and was loading them into the back of the car - careful to place a blanket down so they wouldn’t mess up the backseat (actually that was a lie, even though he was _trying_ to be careful, he was more awkward than anything else and had managed to drop two gourds as he haphazardly laid the blanket down). But as he was occupied, Nile leaned into Joe, “You didn’t tell him what it really means, did you?”   
  
Joe remained as frozen as a statue, only under Nile’s incessant stare, finally admitting the truth with one word, “Nope.”   
  
“What did you tell him it means?”   
  
Joe braced himself for Nile’s response, knowing her far too well, “‘Good friend’”   
  
It started as a slight guffaw, with Joe quietly begging her to contain herself, before her shoulders began to shake and she actually roared with a boisterous laugh that made Nicky turn around to figure out what was so funny. Nile had to wipe a tear away before she could answer, “Ask Joe,” before moving past them both to get in the back seat with the gourds.   
  
She had no idea what he was telling Nicky - and seeing as Captain Obvious couldn’t get one darn message across to Mr. Adorkable - Nile continued quiet chuckles in the back as she pretended to scroll through her phone, claiming she was looking at memes.   
  
Considering the kind of thoughts she was having just ten minutes ago, she was grateful for their distraction, though _poor Joe_ . . . who knew when Nicky would figure out that he was sort of already dating the professor. It seemed obvious to about everyone, but Nicky.   
  
When they pulled up to the faculty townhouses, Andy was leaning against the iron railings of her front steps in case they needed help with lugging anything inside. Nile felt a pang of guilt for not telling any of them she had been with Booker until about fifteen minutes ago, nor that the gourds they were carrying inside were mostly picked out (and paid for) by him. Or how he drove extra careful on the way back so the pie didn’t fall over. She just silently helped place them on the table, and told herself this was the next best thing to him being there.   
  
When Quynh finally emerged from the kitchen, everyone else took their places and she began to walk around with what she called her “phone basket”, confiscating everyone’s to ensure a tech free meal. Andy knew Quynh had made the baklava for desert, but she snuck a piece anyway before they had even started and leaned her head back, “Quynh _cưng_ , you really outdid yourself this year.”   
  
“Hey - hey! We haven’t even said prayers yet,” but there was no real malice in her voice, Andy closed her eyes and ignored her completely, taking another bite while Quynh waved her off.   
  
When Quynh was rounding the table towards Nile, she was a little distracted by Nicky and Joe saying their own prayers - quietly under their breath, so as not to draw attention (or maybe they just preferred to be more subdued?). Either way, their eyes were closed, Joe’s head slightly bent, while Nicky did the sign of the cross and had clasped his hands together. It felt both beautiful to witness, and almost too intimate to behold - like she should probably look away from their little moment beside one another.   
  
“Nile?”   
  
Nile looked up and saw Quynh’s basket - and how her eyes caught her screen - which was still on the picture of her and Booker. The one with their arms around another, where they were smiling, Booker looking into the camera - but Nile, Nile was looking up at him. And she quickly swiped at the screen and turned her phone off and handed it over, hoping Quynh wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.   
  
Because it wasn’t a big deal, right? Just two people hanging out. Nothing more, nothing less.   
_You touched his hair - he tried pumpkin space latte for the first time because of you - you clung to the man on a motorcycle (that was for safety!)_   
  
Thankfully because everyone else seem occupied, no one seemed to notice Quynh hovering by Nile, a careful smile tugging at her lips, “He helped you get these today didn’t he?”   
  
Nile didn’t need to glance at the gourds, just gave a slight nod, hoping no one was overhearing the quiet conversation, “Yes.”   
  
“How is he?” no one had asked these last two weeks, not after Nile had said he hadn’t passed along any more obvious clues. But Quynh was asking now, and Nile realized that at least for her, even with the pain caused to Andy and Joe two years ago - it wasn’t the same for her because she didn’t know him. Maybe it was safe to share a little bit. But she also felt protective, like unsure how _much_ she should share - no less invasive than studying Nicky and Joe praying side by side, even at the communal table.   
  
She stuck with something she thought was mundane, “He tried pumpkin spice for the first time today.” And then his _'Dammit, but yes'_ response played out for a moment in her mind - how he hated admitting it, and she found herself smiling at the memory.   
  
“Uh oh,” Quynh’s voice sounded like a mix of surprise and teasing, and when Nile looked back up at her, she curved her mouth to the side like she knew a secret no one else did.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Oh nothing,” she began to walk behind Nile’s chair, to place the basket on the kitchen counter nearby, “You just have that look.”   
  
Nile’s scrunched her nose, more to herself than anything else, “What look?”   
  
“Mmm - “ but if she planned on saying anything else, she forgot all about it when Andy saw her making her way to the kitchen and asked if she could have one more piece of the baklava.   
  
“Don’t spoil your dinner,” came Quynh’s teasing reply from behind the half wall and Andy groaned in her chair. She didn’t pray like the others, like Nile was supposed to do now, before dishing herself a plate. Joe began to pile Nicky’s for him, because according to Joe he had a high metabolism, and low blood sugar so he needed to eat a lot - and that was the most _couple-y_ thing she could ever imagine Joe saying. But Nicky merely took the plate, and pointed out the Halal dish Quynh had ordered ahead of time - and if he could try some of it, too. Joe cut it for him, as if Nicky couldn’t have and Nile leaned back finding them too adorable for words.   
_  
‘You have that look’ _   
  
And when Nicky moaned at the taste, and Joe’s cheeks blushed, _and had that look_ \- a look of tenderness, and care, and thinking the other person was the most interesting person they had ever met - even when they did something as plain as try a new food, Nile finally understood what Quynh was suggesting, because she had given that _same_ look to Booker when he tried the latte earlier. And now her face felt hot, _‘Uh oh.’_   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nile: *sees Nicky's rusty fiat* That's ok, I can ride the bus  
> Nile: *sees Booker's motorcycle* . . . yesh
> 
> COMING UP NEXT TIME:  
> The team meets Copley!!  
> Nile feels conflicted and talks with Andy . . . who reveals a little more than she intended, too.  
> And Booker and Nile grow closer - before it gets reallllly angsty
> 
> ETA - 19.Nov.2020 - special shout out to user "oceanlagoon" for updating the French terminology where it was in error (luckily not in too many places, but Google Translate failed me, so I'm glad an actual French person took pity on me and helped me update a line in this chapter, and a fewww in the next!)


	6. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first 18 days of December are a whirlwind for the team: first they meet with Copley and then plan for a great little Found Family Christmas party (but in between, the past comes back to haunt) . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for all the kudos and comments and support <3
> 
> Even though this story has a TON of romance and fluff, THIS CHAPTER is super angsty, and tragic backstories for both Quynh and Booker are revealed (though I did include some fluff as well to help balance it out!) . . . and so I'm going to add a few Trigger Warnings (that are not spoiler free), so please make sure to give them a quick glance. I tried to speak very vaguely and in past terms, so nothing graphic! But again, check out the warnings:
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> \- a car accident resulting in spousal and fetal death is mentioned in past tense (no flashbacks)  
> \- conversion camps with abuse and manual labor (spoken of vaguely, both in past tense and in flashback - but in reference to when Quynh is flying back to America, so again, referred to vaguely)  
> \- Quynh has signs of abuse on her when she is reunited with Andy

**_"Fear and Guilt are sisters"_ \- Shirley Jackson**

* * *

**Dec 5th - Copley Auction House**

  
Andy knew it would probably be considered unfair, four against one and all that. But it wasn’t like she had entered this meeting under _completely_ false pretenses. She did say who she was, and who she was bringing with her, and that it had to do with concerns about the business partnership with the Merrick Museum. If Mr. Copley had failed to assess the seriousness of this discussion, then that was his fault, because once he denied things (twice), Quynh laid out everything they had collected in the last three weeks.  
  
His darker skin looked a shade paler, skimming shaky hands over the papers, before quietly admitting that _yes_ \- he and Merrick had secured pieces that weren’t _exactly_ legal, or had all the proper documentation. And _yes_ , Booker was the one who had forged the paperwork. Frankly he had cracked a lot easier than Andy had thought he would, so she moved onto the next portion of their plan - attending the New Year’s Party where several elite members of the foundation would be in attendance bidding on items that were not “for display” but for “private storage”.

Based on the message Copley had given Booker about needing documentation for one of these items in the lot being sold that night - Andy felt it was the most direct way to prove the link between Merrick and Copley, and secure a (likely) stolen piece of artwork. The University could authenticate it, and return it to the rightful place, _and_ take down this entire operation. 

“How - _how_ ,” Copley shoved the pile further away from him, “did you know about the masquerade?”

But Andy didn’t feel particularly forthcoming to answer any of Copley’s inquiries. For all she knew, as soon as they left this place, he would call Merrick and warn him about what was going to come down on him soon enough. So she bypassed his question, and got to the point, “I want you to take a look at everything we’ve already discovered - all on our own, in less than a month. Now you can either help us finish gathering information, and _maybe_ get some sympathy from the Department of Homeland Security for smuggling in international art, forging documents and money laundering-”. 

Copley looked like he was feeling dizzy, but Andy wasn’t done, “Or kick us out, we _still_ get the information we need, and you go down as a co-conspirator.”  
  
He gripped the desk, pressing unsteady hands into the glass frame, while Andy began to stack the papers from Copley’s desk, but no real intent of leaving just yet, “Hopefully, when the government freezes your assets, your court assigned trial lawyer can handle your impending legal battles.”

Copley hesitated for only a moment, either seeing reason in what Andy was saying, or feared her words were a prophecy of sorts, “What do you want from me?”  
  
“Tickets - five of them,” she deadpanned.  
  
When Copley looked like he was debating it internally, Joe who had been sitting nearby with Nile, spoke up for the first time in the meeting, “She’s not asking.”  
  
Andy will tell him later how well he delivered that line, that even _she_ had a slight chill to her skin - and Copley, someone help Copley, he actually _gulped_ before reaching into a drawer and pulling out the tickets, “I - I’ll add your names to the list.”  
  
Later, Joe would ask Andy and Quynh to add Nicky’s name to the list as well. Because he felt bad that Nicky couldn’t come to the meeting - but since Copley seemed to be (sort of) working with them - and understood that if he played it right, Merrick would get the brunt of the punishments, there was no real reason Nicky couldn’t attend the masquerade as his date. They had planned to buy the stolen item themselves, and then authenticate it and notify the authorities within days after. Even _if_ Merrick put it together that Nicky was with Joe, he at best would be unemployed for a week before the Museum would be under investigation.

But it was Nile who tried to understand - or wanted to explain just how disappointed she was in Copley. Andy didn’t see the point, because if you were willing to accept stolen artifacts, forge documents on it, and pocket the money - how much of a moral compass could you have to reason with? But she didn’t stop her.  
  
They were still putting on their jackets, when Nile demanded an answer for the why, and Copley knowing that this time was coming to an end - and it was merely down to how _much time_ or how _much money_ he was about to lose (but lose he would no matter what), saw no point in anything but the truth now. 

He explained he was a widow, his wife dying of ASL four years ago. Merrick had already discovered some art pieces that came from “questionable backgrounds”, but Copley had been too distracted from his wife’s illness that it had slipped through the cracks - in fact more than one piece had been cycled between the museum and the foundation and Merrick threatened to report him, _unless_ he would work with him directly. They could make money, he claimed, _lots_ of it - and Copley thought he could afford an experimental treatment that he otherwise would not be able to.  
  
Of course it hadn’t saved her - but by the time she died, and he emerged from his grief, he was in too deep. So he told himself to look the other way, that if anything, he could _reason_ some of the pieces away - take what the foundation made of them, and donate it to ASL research. In a way it might help someone else’s wife in the future. Where her death could _mean_ something to someone two or three generations from now. And in the end, it was just art. Just canvas, or stone, or paper - _a gift that he could give back to the world_.

Nile stepped away from the wall she had been leaning against, resolute, a powerful force to be reckoned with, precisely because of how calm she sounded, but how deep and wild her eyes sparkled with frustration, “It wasn’t your gift to give.”  
  
Copley remained quiet after that, and Andy said lawyers from the University would be in touch with him to coordinate some things once the art piece was secured, “ - _If_ Merrick remains in the dark.” 

Copley nodded, and they left in silence, willing themselves to wait till they got to the car before commending each other on a job well done. One more part of the plan had been checked off. And it felt good to think of saving a piece of art from greedy hands who wanted to use it more for ownership and dominion, than for the cultural and artistic heritage it provided.   
  
With adrenaline pumping, Andy pulled out of the garage parking lot.  
  
It was Quynh who said it felt like espionage to dress up and buy a stolen art piece. And she suggested they should even give this “mission” a code name, “What do we call this Operation - what should we call ourselves? Heroes?" 

Andy smiled, kissing the back of Quynh’s hand, soaking up her excitement, "No, just a bunch of old guardians for art history and preservation - “ 

“Great,” Nile looked out the window, scrunching her nose with a smirk, “our group name is now the Old Guard?”

Andy smiled, Quynch giggled, but Joe laughed the loudest.

**Dec 12th - Merrick Museum - Booker’s office**

This was it, they had finished the final report, and Booker had just emailed her a copy that she could use in her thesis. They were officially done, and as she received the inbox notification she wondered why she didn’t feel the least bit happy about it.   
  
_Oh yeah, because unless you are honest and admit to how much time you want to spend with Sebastien - you now will have to say goodbye. Be honest, or lie, but say_ something _before you leave this office._

 _But . . ._ they had all agreed that until they got the art piece secured, they wanted to keep Booker in the dark. Nicky referred to it as ‘plausible deniability’. It wasn’t a trust issue, everyone _knew_ Booker wanted to be done - but he was being watched too closely by Merrick (a _nd_ Keane), and they just really needed to make it through this party. Within weeks the museum would be under investigation and then _all_ the secrets Nile had been carrying could be released and hopefully Booker wouldn’t hate her for them.

 _But . . . right now?_ Right now, their work was done, and she didn’t know if she could go weeks before seeing him again. She knew her feelings were romantic, she knew they ran deeper than she cared to admit, and she knew they weren’t just being friendly with one another. _Knew it_ . But they hadn’t . . . hadn’t addressed it, and she worried about starting anything on such a shaky foundation. She wanted the truth revealed, the museum under investigation first.   
  
_But . . . how about_ now _??_ Her heart demanded to know, gnawing at the flesh as if willing her to speak up, because Booker had been as quiet as she was and who knew - maybe he was worried about the same things.  
  
Nile closed her laptop, “It’s ten months tomorrow, right?” 

Booker smiled, lifting his brow, “I can’t believe you kept track - but yes.”  
  
Nile began to pile the device into her bag, and grinned, “It’s an important day, of course I kept track. One day at a time, right?”  
  
Booker didn’t look at her, but she caught his radiant smile as he pushed his chair away from his desk, “Oui, one day at a time.”  
  
“Do you get a chip then?” she was prying, she knew it, they hadn’t really talked about his sobriety since that very first meeting. She didn’t even know how often (or little) he attended meetings. _Was there a dry party for monthly anniversaries?_ Nile should call her aunt after this so she didn’t ask the stupid questions to Booker directly.  
  
Booker had curled his legs underneath to sit on his heels, and Nile contemplated getting him a yoga book for Christmas, because he could probably do the moderate poses fairly naturally with the way he so easily contorted, “Yes I could, but I don’t really love the meetings all that much - I mean I go of course, I have a sponsor, but I don’t do a lot of them.”  
  
“I could go with you if that would help?”  
  
He cringed, literally flinching, and Nile worried she had overstepped. It didn’t help that he looked away from her before replying, “That is not the kind of date I’d want to go on with you.”  
  
She watched the realization dawn on him as to what he had just said, the way his eyes widened, and how his mouth opened to object, then closed just as quickly - he looked like he was ready to explain it away, like he hadn’t meant date- _date_ or something. But Nile was on Cloud 9, biting her own lip to keep the broad smile somewhat contained. When his eyes finally caught hers, she couldn’t help but tease, “So you do want to take me on a date?”  
  
“I uh - I shouldn’t have said that.”  
  
 _Now or never girl._ “Why not? Haven’t we been flirting with each other for the last five weeks?” She cocked her head to the side a little, willing him to argue that they hadn’t - just so she could prove she was right. 

But Booker looked nervous, and a little pink in the cheeks, “Don’t tease an old man, you might give him a heart attack.”  
  
She didn’t like that - and any teasing tone she had in her voice evaporated, “You’re not old.”  
  
Booker looked down, fidgeting his hands in his lap, “Older than you.”  
  
“By a smidge.”  
  
“By enough,” he shrugged as if that was that.  
  
Nile should have read his uncomfortability and left it at that - but dammit, she wanted more, and she had made it this far. If he didn’t want to go on a date, then that was one thing, but if he thought this couldn’t work just because of _that_ , well she was happy to assure him otherwise, “Is that your hesitancy, the age difference?”  
  
“Maybe,” he glanced at her, then looked back down, “Maybe I don’t want you to feel like I’m a project for you to fix - with the whole drinking stuff.”  
  
Nile could appreciate that, maybe he even worried this was a pity thing. And in a way, she did feel sorry for him, but not in the way he worried about. She cared about him, and didn’t want to see him in pain, or being self deprecating, she wanted him to see his own worth, “Only you can do the work on that one Sebastien. But if you aren’t excited about a chip - maybe another incentive then?”  
  
Booker’s eyes traveled up slowly, not sure what she meant.  
  
“If you reach twelve months, you take me on a date - a full on, dress up, bells and whistles date,” he looked slightly confused, but there was also a twinkle in his eyes, and then she zipped her bag closed as if she hadn’t just confirmed that _one -_ they had feelings for one another and _two -_ that they’d be going on a date in two months. Later she would scream into a pillow and dance around her apartment about how cool and suave she played this moment . . . “Until then - I know the project work is done, and I want us to keep talking.”  
  
Booker looked like he instantly felt more relaxed, and quietly responded, “I’d like that, too.”  
  
Nile stood up and swung the backpack over her shoulders, “So let’s - send me more book lists, and I’ll do the same for you. Text me a picture of your chip tomorrow. Call me at 2am if you’re bored for all I care. Learn some memes so we can laugh together. Facetime me on your way into the office, and let’s meet at least once a week for coffee - peppermint flavors are all the rage right now.”  
  
Booker stood up, too, and nodded, beaming if Nile dared say so herself, “I will, I promise - “ Then he laughed a little, leaning against the desk, “Except the peppermint coffee, I don’t know about that.”  
  
“You liked the pumpkin spice latte,” she winked.  
  
“That’s true - I guess I should listen to you more often,” _umph_ , thank God for restraint because if she didn’t have any she could have leaned in and pressed her lips to him right then and there.

Instead she walked backwards to the door, “Tomorrow - pic of the chip - don’t forget.”  
  
He waved a hand, “Will do.” And she turned around, to walk out of the office. She knew the window pane was frosted and likely he wouldn’t be able to see, but still she waited till she was further down the hall till she could fist bump the air once. Proud of herself for one less lie to carry.  
  
Just a few more to go.  
  
  


**Dec 15th - Andy and Quynh’s townhouse**

Andy hadn’t ever planned on sharing any of this.  
  
In fact, she wished she could keep storing it in some sort of iron clad memory box, with thick heavy chains around it, welded shut and thrown deep into a dark crevice of her mind that not even her subconscious could reach. _That’s_ how much she didn’t want to talk about these things. 

But after Quynh had told her what she saw on Nile’s phone, and knowing that Nile and Booker were _still_ meeting even after the thesis work was over . . . even with everything else looming around the corner - Andy knew that she needed Nile to know what she was potentially getting into. And that if she couldn’t handle it, it was better to know that now than later.   
  
She told herself this was for everyone’s good, but it still felt gossipy, and like a violation - the only thing that trudged her forward, slowly unloosing the mental chains, was that if she was Nile, she’d want to know. And so with Quynh’s permission to share this part of herself, she reached out to Nile to ask if she’d come over a few days before their Christmas party (which they always hosted a week before, so people could still visit family if they wanted to).  
  
Quynh had left so Andy and Nile could talk privately, the house feeling colder without her in it, and Andy knew it wouldn’t be hard to tell Nile how empty it felt back then - just like it does right now - when Quynh was gone for years. The Christmas season was too difficult when she was gone - and now every year, they tried to brush over that painful past, every new holiday tradition blotting out devastating years of pain and grime from the emotional wounds that still festered every now and then. 

She couldn’t wait for this to be over, so she could call Quynh back home - bury her face in her wife’s soft skin, tell herself she was real, and that she had come back to her again.   
  
When Nile arrived, Andy offered her some refreshments, but the younger woman declined politely and merely plopped in the corner chair close to the fireplace to warm her hands a bit. Little snowflakes melting into her hair. Andy hadn’t said much, but _enough_ \- asking Nile to meet to talk about Booker - because she didn’t want Nile to feel like she had called her over under false pretenses. She didn’t seem defensive at all though, more curious if anything.  
  
Settling into the chair across from her, she figured it was best just to dive in, “Nile, has Booker told you anything about his past?”  
  
Nile’s fingers curled, interlocking and resting between her legs, “No, not at all - has he with you?”  
  
Andy willed herself to say it, afraid she would sound judgemental - afraid Nile would _be_ judgemental - but still, she continued, “One time, one night - when both of us had been drinking too much . . . ” Her voice faltered already.  
  
Nile’s face relaxed immediately, releasing a deep breath, “Andy if this is about Booker drinking - I already know about that, and he hasn’t in a while actually.”  
  
Andy felt relieved, glad for small miracles, even if she refused to believe in any sort of deity causing them, “Why didn’t you mention that before?”  
  
Nile looked a little bashful, “I didn’t think his sobriety was for me to share you know? But if that’s what this talk is about - ”  
  
Andy felt a pang of guilt, like maybe Nile was wondering _why Andy_ was sharing this information - but that hadn’t even been the main point she was getting at, though she _definitely_ wanted to know more about that. She had suspected after that night that maybe Booker was drinking too much, but she wasn’t sure, and she had kept that fear to herself, even from Joe, “I do want to hear more about it - but actually, first, I want to share what happened that night - “  
  
Nile looked confused, “What night?”  
  
Andy rubbed her hands together, willing herself to stay present and not sink into the chair as she got lost in the recollection, “Three years ago, Joe was visiting Tunisia with his parents during the semester break. And Booker and I were alone, and well misery does love company and he was hanging out here, while I decided to get drunk crying over Quynh.”  
  
Nile softened, sympathizing it seemed. Andy already felt the need to look away and blink back the wet tears forming for a moment, “I - it had been almost five years by then, and Booker, he hadn’t met her - he came about a year after - but I hadn’t talked about it anyone you see."  
  
She was rambling, emotional, and she wished Quynh was holding her hand through this . . . maybe Nile was a mind reader, because she scooted the chair a little closer and quietly asked if she wanted to take a breather, or if she needed to call Quynh back home. But Andy shook her head, and smiled wearily, her throat burned with emotion, “Believe it or not, this is getting easier as time passes - “  
  
Nile smiled slightly, “I guess it’s true what they say, time steals away everything - even pain.”  
  
But Andy shook her head, feeling about six thousand years old, “It’s not what time steals, it’s what it leaves behind. Things you can’t forget.”  
  
Nile sat up a little straighter, not sure what to make of that it seemed.  
  
“Booker has a lot of pain from his past Nile, and unless he’s dealt with it - and I mean, not just a twelve step program deal with it - I think you deserve to know what you’re getting into.”  
  
“What I’m getting into?” she steeled herself, ready to defend _whatever_ was going on between them and Andy liked the bravado, because she was going to need it . . .  
  
“I told Booker that night about _how_ Quynh disappeared, and how I searched for her - and how I knew where she _sort_ of was, but that I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t save her.”  
  
Nile looked confused, clearly not following, “Ten years ago, I met Quynh when I hired her as the Asian Arts History professor - and it didn’t take long for us to fall in love, and we had three gorgeous years together. And I bought this house and proposed to her and we were going to grow old together.”  
  
Nile seemed hesitant to ask, like stepping into a haunted house she didn’t mean to get lost in, “What happened Andy?”  
  
She said the next part quickly, trying to get through it - as if she was reading a prompt of a script inside her brain. _No worse_ , like that stupid box of horrible memories was being attacked by a scorching hot flame, loosening the welds that had sealed it together a long time ago . . . and her hands gripped her knees - telling herself that Quynh _was_ here now, _safe_ and sound at the coffee place down the street, and she’d be back in an hour:  
  
“Quynh left around Christmas seven years ago, to visit her family back in Vietnam. She knew they didn’t like her being gay, but she missed them, wanted to see them - and though she didn’t expect them to be happy about her engagement, she wouldn’t be ashamed and hide it either. And she called me when she landed - and right after she had arrived at their house - and then nothing - for three days, while I was losing my mind back here, texting and calling until the phone must have died.”  
  
Nile’s hand went over her mouth, like she was going to ask - but stopped herself, probably unsure of how to even word it. Because it sounded so unreal, even now, even years later. And Andy had _lived_ through it, “I went to the damn Vietnamese consulate, and at first they were helpful, helped filed a missing person’s report for her there, but then they stopped returning my calls and I swear Nile, I had already booked the tickets. I didn’t even know the damn language, or where her parents lived, just the district area. I didn’t even know their names, because Quynh never talked all that much about them.”  
  
She could feel the box opening - threatening to unspool tightly compacted memories she had wrapped together years ago. Memories she wished she could have thrown away, but they were a part of her, whether she wanted them or not, “And then I got a letter - a fucking _Dear John_ letter - two weeks after she had left, days before I was going to fly out. And it was from Quynh.”  
  
She swiped at the stupid tear that escaped, but otherwise refused to give into the waves threatening to crash against her, “I knew they made her write it Nile, just the way she talked, it didn’t even sound like her - but it was her handwriting, and it said how she was done with me, and she had to stay in Vietnam and that was that.”  
  
Nile’s eyes widened, probably trying to resolve happy-go-lucky, adorable, almost _ethereal_ Quynh with the creature Andy was describing - but that was the point - it hadn’t been Quynh who said those things. Someone had forced her hand, probably literally, “And so there was nothing legally I could do - we werent married yet, and even if we had been, Vietnam doesn’t recognize same sex marriage. The consulate was no help. Supposedly some authority checked in on her and found nothing amiss.”  
  
Somewhere, in the recess of her mind, she could feel Nile’s cold hand on hers, trying to anchor her in place - but she felt like was sinking into the chair none the less, “I didn’t know where she was, her phone never came back on - and I tried, I _tried_ calling that stupid number every day for five years.”  
  
The flood felt overwhelming, the thoughts of _what_ Quynh was going through in those five years filling up the space behind her eyes, and she paused, just long enough to take a few breaths. She could get through this - this wasn’t about Quynh . . . she just needed to explain about Booker, she could do this: “That night, with Booker - I drank to forget Nile, and he did, too.”  
  
Her eyes lifted to hers, pain and shock so evident on her face, but she was kind enough to let her get through this - maybe because she wanted to know what any of this had to do with him, “I had spent almost five years by then, disassociating - just existing, running the University, throwing myself into work - placating Joe and sometimes even Booker when they dragged me out of this house for some stupid bro time that I grumbled through. But more often than not, I held it together till I was alone, until that one night, close to this time of year - close to when she had left, I got drunk and told Booker all of this.”  
  
Separating the narrative in her head - shifting it away from Quynh’s pain and fear, to Andy’s horrible behavior - actually helped steady her a little bit, “And I got mad, too. Told him he didn’t understand what losing a loved one was like - because I didn’t know he was doing the same thing as me, just existing. He had just played the part better, because he’d been doing it longer.”  
  
Her emotions felt less frayed, now that she was talking about Booker, though she was still counting down the minutes till Quynh returned, “I yelled at him that he didn’t get it - and he shouted right back that I had no idea what I was talking about, and I demanded to know how his pain was worse, and I pushed and I pushed until he cried Nile. I made Booker _cry_ .”  
  
Nile’s eyes widened, “Andy - “  
  
Andy looked away, embarrassed even years later, “He lost his family Nile, his whole future.” 

Nile’s breath caught in her throat, and she gazed back at her, “Eighteen years ago, Booker was married with a kid on the way - and they were driving to a Christmas party when someone skidded on the road and slammed into the passenger side.”  
  
Nile’s lip quivered, like she understood, pure empathy and pain for what Booker had survived. But Andy said it out loud anyways, “He was in a coma for weeks, and his wife died instantly, along with the baby. They told him it was a girl.”  
  
Whatever resolve Nile had wavered. Her shoulders shook, and she tried to stifle the cry that came up, her hand clasped over her mouth tightly. Her reply came out muffled, but discernible, “Oh _God_ , Sebastien - “  
  
Andy closed her eyes, remembering how red his face was when he talked about it, when he screamed their names at her, and told her how _dare_ she tell him he didn't understand loss - and how he was trying to be there for her, and to stop assuming she was the only in pain. She told Nile all of that, too. Quietly humbling herself, because Andy had been the person who got so lost in her own pain, she couldn’t even see it in others - worse, pretended anyone else’s wasn’t as bad as hers. She learned from that horrible mistake, but it cost her Booker. _Too high of a cost_ .  
  
“That’s the reason he drives a motorcycle - he's refused to drive a car ever since.”  
  
Vaguely she recalled Booker yelling on his way out the door that Joe didn’t understand either - because of all the jokes he made about his bike being his “baby” (and he was going to tell Joe to _fuck off, too_ ) and Andy sobbed and shouted her apologies even when he slammed the door behind him.   
  
The next day, they both pretended nothing happened, but the damage was done. They knew too much, and neither was willing to talk about it. Booker never did call Joe that night to tell him off - but Joe knew _something_ had happened: he sensed, he prodded and poked, but neither would admit. And Booker was gone five months later.

Nile’s tears ran freely, but in between sobs she asked why Andy had told her this, why not allow Booker, too. But they both knew he wouldn’t have. It was a lifetime ago. And besides, what was there to really say? Nothing changed it . . . “I don’t know if Booker ever planned on telling you Nile, but no matter what you might think now, I love him. I care about him, and I think you deserved to know, too. He’s been running from it for so long now, that I’m worried that even _if_ he told you about it, he might push you away and I wanted you to be prepared for it. Maybe if you know beforehand you might be able to show him there’s no need to.”  
  
She nodded, seemingly understanding, but Andy wasn’t done yet, “Nile, if - if this is too much for you to handle, break it off now. Booker is definitely not perfect, but if he does give his heart to someone again, he needs someone who is strong enough to be able to handle this.”  
  
Nile froze, eyes wide for a moment before she shot straight up, her hands curling into fists - except one finger that pointed directly at Andy. She opened her mouth, like she was about to yell - no, scream, but then she closed it just as quickly, groaning instead, steadying herself before she began to walk over to the door and gather her things.  
  
Andy got up quickly, not sure if she needed to check in with Nile, or apologize or _both_ , “Nile I - “  
  
Nile lifted her hand to her, eyes closed, like the very sound of her voice was intrusive for a moment, “Andy I love you - but right now, I am _this_ close to chewing your ass out - so stop now.”  
  
Andy eyes widened, unsure of what to reply to that with.  
  
When Nile put on her jacket, she finally glanced back at her, “I get why you told me - truly I do. I don’t even think you’re wrong for telling me. In a way you’re looking out for both of us, and I’m not mad for that.”  
  
“But you are mad?”  
  
Nile sighed, finishing tying the boots that laced over her ankles, “I’m _pissed_ Andy because you think that I would abandon Sebastien for something that wasn’t his fault - for something that he probably needs some counseling for sure, but nothing that I would ever want him to worry about me leaving him for.”  
  
She stood up straight, tugging the belt around her jacket until it was knotted in the front, “I thought you knew me better than that - and it pisses me off that you thought that was even possible.”  
  
Andy stepped forward, cautiously almost, “Nile, I’m sorry - it was an unfair presumption, completely based without merit. You’ve been nothing but understanding to all of us, and I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be anything less with Booker. I’m truly sorry.”  
  
Nile relaxed a little, examining Andy as if debating the sincerity of her words. Then she rolled her eyes, and reached for her hand, “I- I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to sound so angry with you. I got defensive about myself, and I feel - _protective_ of him you know?"  
  
“I had a feeling you were,” Andy took a step closer, “you really care for him, don’t you?”  
  
Nile gave a weak smile, “Yes, more than I can really admit to most days.”  
  
“But he doesn’t know we’re investigating does he?” Nile’s smile faltered and she looked down, “No.”  
  
Andy put her hands on Nile’s shoulder, trying to offer some comfort, but doubted she'd succeed, “We can tell him as soon as the masquerade is over, as soon as we have the evidence to bring to the government, I’m sure they’d make a deal with Booker for his testimony and - “  
  
Nile rested her hands on Andy’s wrists, “I hope so, I really do. I just - lying to him about what we are doing - and _omitting is lying_ -” She looked down at her shoes, “I hope he doesn’t hate me, I hope he knows he can trust me.”  
  
Just then, Quynh unlocked the door walking in and smiling gently and if Nile’s hands hadn’t been on Andy’s wrists, she would have scooped her up. Nile looked exhausted, and Quynh immediately went to her, pulling her into a hug, “I guess you two talked huh?”  
  
Andy felt horribly selfish for it, but she wanted Quynh’s arms around her, comforting her, too.  
  
Nile hugged Quynh back, “Quynh I’m so sorry for the things that happened to you.” Andy winced audible. She hadn’t told her the specifics, but enough, _enough_ to know that Quynh wasn’t away because she wanted to be . . . but Quynh, loving, kind Quynh who took her pain and wanted to ensure no one else ever felt like that, hugged Nile tighter, “Thank you Nile.”  
  
Then she pulled back, swiping at Nile’s tears on her cheeks, “Are you okay, with what Andy shared with you about Booker?”   
  
Nile shrugged her shoulders, more tears threatening to emerge, “I can’t imagine the pain he’s been dealing with. And I don’t ever want him to feel he couldn’t talk to me about it.” Quynh nodded, understanding and Andy contemplated how maybe Booker and Nile might not be so different than them.  
  
“I should go - and try to process some of this,” Quynh gave her one last squeeze on her shoulders, and stepped aside. Andy was surprised, but grateful, when Nile walked up to her and hugged her, too. She had thought she owed Nile at least one more apology before she’d be comfortable doing that.

“Check in tomorrow?” Andy asks in a whisper, unsure.  
  
“Yes, please,” Nile pulled back, and with one last look between them, headed out.

* * *

  
  
Quynh locked the door, and immediately felt Andy’s warm body press against her back - wrapping her arms around her stomach, dipping her face in her hair - even if surely wet snow flakes were chilling her cheeks. Her hand settled on Andy’s wrist, rubbing the skin gently, “How much did you tell her?”  
  
“How horrible I was while you were away -,” Andy clung harder, “how I made Booker cry, how I didn’t know what was happening to you.”  
  
Andy moved back a little when Quynh began to turn around to face her, and cupped Andy’s face between her hands, “I’m here now.”  
  
Andy’s tears had pooled in her eyes, but one escaped before she closed the space between them, pressing her lips against her as if she was far too delicate. As if memories of when she showed back up at her doorstep were haunting her. And she _hated_ that, hated how reserved Andy could sometimes get. So she deepened their kiss, until Andy’s hands began to roam and they headed upstairs . . .

  
_Two Years Earlier_

Her body ached, the bruise on her cheekbone an odd mix of yellow and brown because she didn’t have any makeup to cover it before boarding the plane. Even now, with the passport and ticket in hand, she felt the eyes on her - maybe because even the large sunglasses couldn’t hide what had happened. The baggy sweater she was given slipped every now and then revealing the cut from a few days ago, and when the stewardess scanned the ticket, she looked her over more than once before quietly handing it back. _What was there to say?_ Quynh had obviously been hurt by someone - but she was finally alone, finally on her own again - and she needed to get on this plane. 

Because her life depended on it.  
  
When she had arrived five years prior, she thought things would be tough when she told her family she was engaged - to a woman. They had always known she wouldn’t marry a man, disappointed in the education she insisted on getting, and almost resentful of the fact that she had “run away” to America. Even when she sent money back, it was not enough to convince her family that she did not _need_ to be married in order to support them in their old age. In a way, maybe she thought getting married, even to Andy, would help the comments of her being “dishonorable” go away.  
  
It was a lethal mistake on her part, and it cost her her freedom.  
  
When the plane landed, Quynh released a deep exhale . . . finally, she was back on American soil, and soon - very soon she’d see Andy. She just had to get past customs, which should be easy, everything she had she was wearing, one small purse holding her ID and passport, and the fifty dollars the missionaries gave her who helped smuggle her out.  
  
She had used a dusty payphone outside of the airport to call Andy’s cellphone, but the number said it was no longer valid. Then she had tried the University, but her secretary said she had already left for the day and if she could take a message - 

Quynh hailed the cab instead.

Maybe she shouldn’t have shown up like this - battered and bruised, a sight to behold. A loathsome creature, a caricature of what she once was. She didn’t even know if their house was still _their_ house anymore. If Andy had moved away, or moved someone else in - she had been forced to write that goodbye later, she couldn't have blamed her if she had. But love just didn't go away like that, even if she had moved on, Andy would surely still help her.  
  
It was dark when she pulled up, the porch light off, but an otherwise warm early summer day. And she paid the cabbie and walked up the steps, and wanted to collapse at the sight of the door - the door that still had the wreath on it that she had made before she left. A Christmas wreath. Andy kept it up in the summer, too? Had she ever taken it down? - _No_ , Andy told her immediately when she had asked later, _never_ -  
  
And so when she rang the bell, when she heard Andy’s voice grumbling that she hadn’t _ordered anything_ , she cried - because even pissed off, it _was Andy on the other side of the door_. 

Worn, weary, smaller, bruised, broken in oh so many horrible ways - with big sunglasses and an even bigger sweater, Andy opened the door to a _shell_ of Quynh. And she stood there, her beautiful eyes wide, her head shaking, wondering if this was a dream, or a nightmare?  
  
And Quynh felt her arms reach for her, and she collapsed into the embrace and Andy wailed with her - barely slamming the door shut before pulling the glasses off of her face - crying and desperately demanding to know what had happened. But Quynh couldn’t stop crying, and she sank to the floor, and she wasn’t even sad anymore - she was _safe_ in Andy’s arms - _Andy!_ who held her and cried with her - told her she loved her, and that she was so grateful she was home.  
  
 _Home._  
Kissed her so tenderly in case she would break . . . _Quynh you’re home._  
  
When Quynh told her what happened, the conversion camps she was sent to - the beatings she took when they didn’t work, the field work and manual labor to keep her too tired to think of girls (like she ever thought of anyone but Andy) . . . Andy shouted and yelled, and looked like she was ready to cut down anyone who had anything to do with it ( _with an axe_ , she claimed). She insisted on getting her wounds documented, _insisted_ on a hospital but Quynh begged her for sleep. The plane ride took almost two days and Andy finally abated, but declared that the next day they would. 

Her anger grew into streams of tears when she drew her a bath, when she saw the bruises, both new and old and how thin she had gotten. She was so incredibly tired, and Andy helped her get in the tub, and delicately wiped at the skin, careful to avoid any obvious marks. But still she cried, while Quynh thought she could sleep for days.  
  
After putting her in bed, _the guest bed? Why the guest bed_ , Quynh had asked. But Andy said it was so she could sleep, and Quynh begged her to stay with her, she slept so many nights without her, _please not one more._

Andy obliged, carefully laying down beside her, worried she would snap in half if she applied too much pressure . . . Quynh slept for a day and a half.  
  
When she had woken up, Andy was there - stroking her cheek, kissing her so sweetly, but her eyes were puffy. She winced when she asked her where her ring was, and Quynh said they took it.  
  
“Then I’ll get you another one today,” Andy said, kissing the back of her hand, “And we’ll get married next week, and I’ll declare it to the whole world, and if you ever disappear again, they’ll know who you belong to - and they’ll return you to me.”  
  
And when Quynh turned her face to hers, she smiled a little, allowing the truth of her words to flood over her, “Just you and me?”  
  
And Andy looked down at her, exhausted but with so much love in her eyes it made Quynh’s breath catch, “Until the end.”  
  
They _had_ gotten married - but more like two weeks later, because Quynh wanted to look her best, and heal more. She met Joe, who was their witness at the courthouse, and drew a portrait of them as a gift (blissfully making her look better than she felt - it would be another six months till they put the clothes back on and had more formal pictures taken). She went into therapy twice a week to heal the emotional wounds, and learned how to compartmentalize her triggers. And though it took several months, she learned how to not feel guilty when Andy’s hands slid over her body, when her breath staggered against her ear. And Andy - beautiful, patient Andy who waited all this time, and who _would_ have waited even longer - kept asking Quynh if she was sure one night when Quynh reached for her in the dark. 

But she was.   
  
Because she understood what suffering was - and she never wanted anyone else to feel like that. She wanted to remain kind - no matter what she had endured.

Allowing what happened to her to bleed into their marriage, to not love her wife completely, would be allowing _them_ to win, to have truly beaten her down . . . and every time she didn’t pull back from Andy was _one.big.fuck.you._ to them.  
  
Quynh survived - and would thrive again. Solely because the kindness of strangers who helped her escape (who she didn’t even know the names of) - and of people who weren’t related to her, were stronger than the bonds of blood. At least in her case. 

She would build her own family. 

And it would be the best family. No matter how little or big. 

And it started with Andy at her side.  
  
So now - 

* * *

. . . now when two years later Andy was overwhelmed about Booker and Nile, Quynh placed her on the bed, and sat in her lap, “They will figure it out my love.”  
  
Andy leaned forward, her cheek on Quynh’s collarbone, smelling the perfume she put on her earlier, “It was hard to talk about those years . . . Harder to think of what was happening to you.”  
  
Quynh would probably be in therapy for the rest of her life (though now she was down to every two weeks), and she knew she could talk to Andy about this - she had plenty of times. And Andy held her when she would cry, and kiss her tears away. But right now, maybe because she had given Andy permission to share it with Nile - even if it didn't sound like she really had . . . Quynh felt safe and okay, and held. Held by Andy as much as she _wanted_ to hold her, “I’m here with you now at least, and I thank God for it every day.”  
  
Andy practically snickered, pulling back to look up at her, “How you can still believe in a God after everything you’ve been through - “  
  
Ah, the same old fight they had dozens of times before . . . “How can I not when I’m here in your arms?”  
  
Andy wanted to groan at the cheesiness, but when it came to Quynh she soaked it up. She got a side of her that no one else did, gentle and vulnerable and almost delicate in Quynh’s embrace, and right now she wanted nothing more than to prove how okay she _really_ was . . . “Just you and me - ”  
  
Andy let out a sigh when she felt Quynh’s hands begin to press her back on the bed, and grinned up at her, “Until the end.”  
  
  


**Dec 18th - Andy and Quynh’s Christmas Party**

  
They had finished the last project nine days ago, but if Joe had had any concerns of Nicky disappearing from his life soon after, those fears were abated by his continued presence. His class had ended a few days ago, save for three days of final exams he’d be overseeing, and of course grading - but he basically had a month off, and all that free time, meant on Nicky’s days off, they binged movie marathons, and Joe didn’t even care that he was watching the entire Harry Potter collection for the fifth time in his life - because Nicky sat so close to him on the couch that he wasn’t paying attention anyway. 

In fact, now that they had more free time together, they joined in on Andy and Quynh’s weekly game nights with Nile (on top of almost nightly dinners at Joe’s just between them). 

It was at their house last week, when Quynh was sharing the party gift theme of “clothes” that Nicky looked perplexed, not following. And though Joe hadn’t wanted to presume, he was grateful when Andy told Nicky all on her own about their Christmas party they hosted a week before - on the 18th this year - and that Nicky was more than welcome to join them as well if he’d like. He explained he had no plans on flying back home this year, and would love to come (which Joe had been trying to find a way to ask so he could make plans, but hadn’t figured out a way to bring it up naturally outside of, “I want to spend Christmas with you - because I never celebrate it, but I know you do and I want to do that with you, because I want to do everything with you.”) Yeah he couldn’t say any of _that_ to him.  
  
Couldn’t tell him how much it meant to him that Nicky came with him to help him pick out the gifts days ago for everyone - but that Nicky insisted that the ones they buy each other had to be done privately, so as not to “spoil the surprise.” And he _definitely_ couldn’t tell him how cute he looked when he took his hair down for a moment, and repiled it because it had gotten snagged on the fedora Joe thought would look good on him. And he most _certainly_ couldn’t give into the feelings when Nicky called him over from two aisles away, shouting, _“Yusuf - habibi, look at this.”_  
  
He felt like he was functioning on one brain cell, and it was labeled “Nicky’s” in bold letters.  
  
But his heart almost burst tonight at their gift exchange when they were piled in Andy and Quynh’s living room - Quynh having managed to decorate it as chic as only she could do. Two toned theme colors everywhere in soft displays of blue and white. Not one strand of tinsel to be found - but that was okay, there was an explosion of it at Nicky’s apartment that they planned on going to after this anyway. Sitting in a circle, with Joe and Nicky sharing the two seater, boxes were pulled from under the tree by Quynh who wore a silver Santa cap that Andy kept flicking the ball at the end to.   
  
She normally had her tech free policy for these sorts of things, but told Nile she could snap some photos _but only a few_ \- and now, as the presents had been sorted into everyone’s laps, they opened them one by one, a painfully slow process to Joe. Belts, and earrings, necklaces and blouses and jackets were pulled one after the other - each perfect for the person they had been picked for and laughter flowed freely when they began to put them over the clothes they were already wearing, looking bulky and puffy as more and more layers were added.  
  
Finally, when most of them had been unpacked, Nicky took four small, clumsily (if he was being objective for once) wrapped packages from his side that he had tucked away under the couch cushion as soon as they had arrived. Now though he gave a weak smile, shyer than just minutes before, and handed them off between them, “I know we said clothes, but I thought you could wear these on your keys - so hopefully it’s still on theme.”  
  
Joe tore at the paper, and looked down at the small key chain in his hands - a metal oval with the family quote from _Lilo & Stitch _ written on it in cursive: _‘This is my family. I found it, all on my own. It's little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.’_

Quynh cried first, and Andy rubbed her back and pulled her close - but they were happy tears. Joe blinked his away, moved but seeing Nicky tucking his chin to his chest, a hand tugging at the hem of his sweater, like Quynh’s tears had made him rethink if it had been okay, “This is beautiful Nicolo.”  
  
He looked back at him, “Thank you Yusuf.”  
  
Nile pulled her keys out, immediately placing it on her set, “Finally we have something similar to wear Nicky.”  
  
“Oh I don’t have one - it was just for you guys.”  
  
Quynh swiped at the tear on her cheek, “What? Why wouldn’t you get one for yourself?”  
  
Nicky’s hand flexed, so quickly the others might not have seen, but Joe was already so attuned it was unmistakable to him, “You have all been so welcoming, I just didn’t want to assume - “  
  
Andy shook her head like his nervous rambling was the strangest reply he could have given, “Nicky, I really thought you being in my house once a week was clear enough - you’re a part of this place. And once this all goes down and the Museum goes up in flames - I’ll find you a place at the University. Nepotism be damned, because you belong here beside us, most of us knew that from day one.”  
  
She glanced at Joe, but _blissfully_ didn’t elaborate and now it was Nicky’s turn to get a little emotional, “That’s very kind of you Andy, I - I really appreciate it, and I would love to come work at the University - and thank you all for being so welcoming. I should have realized it was mutual - I - . . .” And before he could even stop himself Joe put an arm around his shoulders and Nicky leaned into it like it was the most natural thing in the world, rubbing a wet spot under his glasses as he worked on keeping the tears at bay, “I sometimes - I don’t get things unless they’re said directly - “  
  
And while Nicky was pulling his glasses off, catching a breath and swiping at the rim with his shirt to clean them - Nile, Andy _and_ Quynh looked at Joe as if to say, _‘So maybe say it directly man.’_ But this was not the time either. Nicky was already emotional, and though he had embraced them all so readily, he was still much more private than even they had realized. He preferred being a homebody, or sitting in a dark theater, unnoticed when they did meet outside of their apartments. He would _not_ want a love declaration in the middle of Andy’s living room.  
  
He gave them a look of _‘I will I will - just_ not _now.’_ But even that silent exchange was cut short when Nicky put his glasses back and leaned further into Joe’s arm, putting his head on his shoulder. He wasn’t lying against him completely, his lower body angled away - but with the way he bent his leg against the edge of the sofa, implied it wasn’t a casual move. Like he planned on _staying_ against Joe -   
  
He felt their eyes on them, like just waiting to see what would happen next - and considering Joe had just muddled on internally about how private Nicky preferred to be, he certainly didn’t seem to mind the eyes on him right now. Or maybe he was just oblivious to them. Maybe he didn’t even realize how comfortable he had made himself against Joe when he was feeling emotional, but no matter what the reason, he was just grateful Nicky felt safe enough to do it.   
  
Nile was the one who broke the silence, and Joe was grateful for it, "Well I’m glad you’ve been initiated Nicky - now there’s five of us, and we can start a band."  
  
Nicky chuckled, and asked her how she knew he liked to sing - and she said she didn’t, but now she hoped they’d go off and do karaoke together sometime. Any tension he had seemed to seep out of him, and he nodded saying that sounded fun before Nile patted her thighs and suggested a quick game of cards before she would need to head out.

When Quynh pointed to the deck on the small table beside Nicky, he moved off Joe to help deal them out. And Joe fought against the urge to pull him back down because he missed his warmth already. But it was Andy who pointed out that Joe and Nicky were one present short - for one another - and Joe whipped his keychain around his index finger as a reminder, but Nicky waved that off with a laugh, explaining they were exchanging gifts for one another on Christmas Eve, because Joe was staying in the country this year.  
  
Joe hadn’t told Nicky this was the first year he had done since he was a child - and his parents had been terribly disappointed (but were still going themselves to enjoy a break of warm weather). And he _definitely_ didn’t tell Nicky he had _only_ done it so Nicky wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve. 

_‘I sometimes - I don’t get things unless they’re said directly - ‘_

Joe was scared, he knew it, but Nicky had said so himself - _he needed directness . . ._ holding the cards close to his chest, his mind spun in just _how_ he wanted to confess his feelings, and settled on next week. A week to build up the courage and pray that Nicky saw him as more than his best friend. He hoped telling him how much he cared about him wouldn’t taint Christmas for him.  
  
“Joe, are you folding or staying?” Nile asked.  
  
 _What a metaphor_ , “Staying. For this round.”

* * *

**Later that night . . . Nile’s apartment**

Nile and Booker had managed to keep up a semblance of what they had before their talk six days before. They hadn’t seen each other, mostly because Nile was busy with end of the year paperwork, but they FaceTimed almost every day - and dare she suggest, flirted a little? Like how Booker would text her _‘Good morning beautiful’_ , and she would text back, _‘Good morning handsome.’_ Or how she’d grin when he sent her pictures of quotes from the books they were still recommending, and writing underneath, _‘Saw this - thought of you.’_  
  
It was sweet, endearing, innocent she told herself. Patient and waiting for time to pass, while Booker kept working on himself (he had sent a picture of his ten month chip the day after). 

And after Andy had told her about Booker’s past, she almost reached out to him - insisting on getting coffee and talking about it, but then she decided against it. Realizing she would have been doing that more for herself and the questions she had, and not for Booker’s benefit. Maybe a part of her was more worried than once he knew _she_ knew, he’d run like he had before. 

When she had shared with Booker that her work was pretty much wrapped up for the month, and she sort of hinted at wanting to meet - he asked her about her Christmas plans, and if she planned on seeing her family. She said she wanted to, but maybe next year, this year her budget been eaten up with her thesis work and she hadn’t done her part time job on the side to save enough for a ticket home. He told her he would love to meet up sometime, _and maybe the 17th?_ \- but Nile couldn’t make it, and didn’t have the heart to explain further when she said she was busy on the 18th as well. If he _had_ been celebrating with Andy and Joe those few years ago, he probably knew _why_ \- and he didn’t ask further. Instead he told her they’d figure out a day at some point.  
  
It felt painfully normal - except here she was knowing something _else_ about Booker that he didn’t know she knew, and it made her stomach turn. She wished he could have been there tonight, and she could have given him the present she bought him weeks ago . . . but maybe they’d spend Christmas together? With warm sweaters, and cozy blankets, reading to each other and listening to classical music. It wouldn’t be a date _per se_ , but close enough.  
  
She was still smiling at the idea of it, when she reached her apartment complex and saw none other than Booker’s bike parked in the guest parking lot. Her head shot up to the entryway and _there he was_ \- standing in front of the locked inner door, reading the names on the mailboxes, probably looking for which one belonged to her.  
  
He looked surprised to see her this late in the night, “Sebastien, what are you doing here?”  
  
He gripped an envelope in his hand, but didn’t look _entirely_ pleased to see her, “Were you walking by yourself this late at night?”  
  
Nile shrugged her right shoulder, “It was just a short walk from - “ _Andy’s_ . She didn’t finish, looking away, and Booker understood, blissfully not pressing further. She pointed at the envelope, “Is that for me?”  
  
Booker looked down at his hands, “Um yes, I was going to put it in your mailbox, an early Christmas present.”  
  
“Oh well if you want to exchange now, mine’s upstairs - come on up,” she was already unlocking the door when Booker tried to protest, but Nile brushed it off, “It’s just a gift exchange-” _(it’s not like we’re dating)_ _  
_  
She couldn’t tell if his ears were turning red from the cold, or embarrassment, but figured before he could really say _no_ , she’d step aside holding the door for him, “Come on - it’ll take a few minutes and then you can ride off into the night all _mysteriously_ .”  
  
He smirked, and waved his hands like _‘alright, fine’_ and then let her lead the way to the third floor. Blissfully because of her busy schedule, and living alone, her apartment was mostly barren and usually didn’t take more than a whopping fifteen minutes to clean. She hadn’t decorated for Christmas save one lone plastic two foot Christmas tree resting on her kitchen counter. 

Otherwise, it was painfully obvious this was a student apartment. Dumping her stuff on the chair by the door, she hung the key, and smiled at Nicky’s gift shining back at her, before flipping on the light.  
  
Booker glanced around the room, taking it all in - which took about two minutes seeing as it was just one living room, one small kitchen, and a hallway with two doors - one for the bedroom and one for the bathroom. But he did meander over to the bookshelves, which took up one whole wall - cheap shelves, but they did the job, holding pounds and pounds of books: both research and the ones she read for herself. He took his time examining the first shelf while she grabbed two sodas from the fridge and brought one over to him, “I’m sure you have a bigger collection.”  
  
His eyes moved to the second shelf, and chuckled, “Yours is pretty impressive though.” He went to take the soda can, and tipped his head as a silent ‘thank you’. But he didn’t flip the top open, since he was still gripping the envelope in the other.  
  
“May I open that?” she pointed towards it, and he looked a little unsure like he was debating, “Or were you dropping it off it in my mailbox because you didn’t want to see my excited face?”  
  
He smiled a little, nodding, “I know it’s a little much, and I figured it’d be harder for you to return it if I’m not standing right in front of you.”  
  
Now she really _had_ to know what was in this envelope. When he handed it over, she opened it fairly quickly, and it was a generic Christmas card - but when she opened that, she saw his handwriting: _‘Merry Christmas’_ , in French, his name . . . and a round trip ticket to Chicago leaving in two days, where she would be spending a week.  
  
It - was _perfect_ and _too much_ , and she didn’t know whether to thank him or give it back, and her mouth opened to say something, but she was feeling emotional and looked up at him still not sure if she could really accept it, “ . . . Sebastien - I can’t - “  
  
He shrugged as if this was no big deal, as if he hadn’t just hung the stars for her . . . “They’re non refundable I’m afraid - late booking and all that.” Then he ran a hand through his hair, trying to explain because Nile _still_ hadn’t said anything, “I bought them after you said you wanted to see your family for Christmas a few days ago - ?” Like she had forgotten that or something.  
  
She could feel her hands shaking a little, the tickets flapping against the card, and then she took two steps towards him and wrapped her arms around his chest, hands resting against his shoulder blades, ear pressed firmly against his heart which was beating about as fast as hers, “You have _no_ idea what this means for me Sebastien - _thank you_ .”  
  
Booker’s arms seemed a little tentative, moving slowly to place the soda on the shelf - before wrapping them around her shoulders and pressing her close. She could feel his cheek against the top of her head, and any worries she had (about anything really) - faded away for one blissful moment. Neither rushed to pull away, and Nile realized that if they _would_ date - if Booker made it to February, it would be Valentine’s Day. It was so _painfully_ corny to have a first date on Valentine’s Day. And she’d probably insist on _feb 15th_ or something just to spite the consumer market. 

But _if_ they started dating, warm hugs in front of books could be her future. 

Booker could be her future.  
  
It was Booker who spoke up first, raising his face a little so he didn’t mess up her hair when he talked, “I know how important family is Nile, and I wanted you to be able to see them.” Booker knew about her losing her dad when she was eleven, even now a framed photo of him was propped on the table in the corner. She had talked about how close her family became after his death - but just like everything in the last three days, she looked at their conversations through a different lens now. How silent he had been when she brought up family . . .  
  
But this gift he gave her would mean so much to not only her - but to her mother and brother as well. Between her post grad work, and the thesis, well it had been two years since they had seen each other. And a lot had happened since then. Hell, a lot had happened in just the last five weeks. _A lot_ . Like, imagining a future with a French guy who was still in his first year of sobriety. And potentially facing legal troubles in a matter of weeks.  
  
Nile pulled back, wiping at the tear spilling out, “I’m going to pay you back for this - “

And Booker lifted his hand, swiping at the wet skin on her cheek - in such a gentle way that had she not watched it for herself she might have questioned if it had even happened, “No you’re not - it’s a gift.”  
  
Nile chuckled, shaking her head, trying to recenter herself and not allow any more tears to fall. She would have to talk to him about this later, about how he better not start thinking this was somehow expected, these grand expensive gifts. But for now, she asked him to take a seat on the sofa, “There is absolutely _no_ way I will be able to top these tickets - but close your eyes and I’ll go get your gift.”  
  
He looked like he felt a little silly doing it, but indulged her anyways. And when she came back with the box, she allowed herself one moment where she looked at his face: his eyes closed, his face relaxed and she committed the look to memory - _mm, get a grip girl. Seven weeks, stay resolved - do not lean and kiss him._ _Do.not._  
  
She plopped herself beside him, and he opened his eyes wondering what she was up to, “And here you go.” Nile handed the box over, and he exhaled as if even a small box for him was too much - and she rolled her eyes and told him to open it anyway.  
  
“The Complete Works of Jane Austen . . . ?”  
  
Nile fell back against her couch, and sighed like it was _perfect_ and Booker made a face, “Seriously?” And Nile teased him a little with a sing songy voice, “Well _open_ it . . . “  
  
When he did, the faux cover she had carelessly attached fell off, revealing an annotated edition of _Dracula_ in French, and underneath the book, was a [ vinyl sheet of stickers ](https://www.literaryemporium.co.uk/products/gothic-literature-vinyl-sticker-sheet) inspired by gothic literature he could put wherever he felt like it. 

And he actually laughed, genuinely and warmly, and Nile knew she did good. He promised to put one of the stickers on his computer, just for her.

As he was skimming through the book, Nile wondered out loud, “Sebastien - if I’m in Chicago for Christmas, where will you be?”  
  
“Here -” he didn’t look up at her, shrugging his shoulders, and finishing the soda, “working probably.”  
  
She was going to press, but she wanted to be delicate about it, make sure he knew she was here for him, but also assure him that he didn’t have to talk to her about it either. Carefully she continued, “Is Christmas a hard time for you?”  
  
He had just finished his soda, it was resting between his hands, and he didn’t look up at her. It felt almost deafeningly quiet, _and_ buzzingly loud at the same time - like the space was being filled by his silence until finally he spoke up, so quietly she was glad she had leaned a little closer, “ . . . Andy told you didn’t she?”  
  
She could not lie to him one more time, she just couldn’t - and replied immediately, “Yes.”  
He bent forward placing the empty can on her coffee table, and put his elbows on his knees, fingers a little shaky already running into his hair, “She - she shouldn’t have told you that - “  
  
Nile scooted even closer, her leg touching his, a tentative arm looping around his and rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe this was too much - some people don’t like to be touched in difficult moments. But she was hoping to help keep him grounded, though she felt woefully unqualified as to _how_ exactly she could do that for him. So she stuck with the basics, assuring him she was here for him, literally, “She actually wanted to warn me for your sake - she said she loves you and wanted to make sure that if we were getting closer, that I basically better be sure that I can be empathetic to your experiences.”  
  
Booker didn’t move, frozen and stiff - barely breathing before a staggered exhale burst forth, and she could hear the emotion in his voice, “Andy knows you and I have been seeing each other?”  
  
Nile squeezed his arm, and his chest shook a little, “Yes - “ She wanted to tell him the rest, about how she had gotten his messages that very first day, how she had met Copley, how they were going to the masquerade - but keeping Booker at a distance for just a little while longer was just as much for him as it was for them. Merrick watched him far too closely . . . but _one_ less lie on her conscience felt like a relief.  
  
“She said she still loves me?” that one broke her heart a little.  
  
“Yes,” she looked up, and rested her chin on his shoulder but he kept his head down, eyes covered by his blonde strands.  
  
“And you - . . . you think you can be empathetic for what - for wh-,” his hands curled into fists, and he sat back suddenly, jolting Nile along with him though that was more inadvertent than anything else. One hand rested on his knee, the other hand uncurled in front of his mouth, like he was trying to prevent the words from spilling out. 

She waited, hoping he could feel her understanding seeping from her skin into his - and after a moment, where the breath caught in his throat, Booker looked away towards the window and at the snow falling outside, “I - I can’t talk about this with you, Nile.”  
  
Nile didn’t follow, “Why not?”  
  
He closed his eyes, and shook his head, “I can’t talk to anyone about it - I’ve tried a few times, but after a while - it’s like I feel worse for still grieving sometimes. It’s been eighteen years, and I still feel it some days.”  
  
Nile steadied herself, thinking of something her father used to tell her when emotions felt too big to contain - when pain felt too much and somehow bad. Then cautiously, in case Booker preferred not to have to direct eye contact right now, she placed her other hand on his arm as well, as if silently chaining him to the couch in case he felt like floating away into the grief, “My Dad use to say that sometimes our emotional wounds heal, and sometimes they become scabs and scars. And who are we to say who’s got which ones? Sometimes it’s not about telling someone that they should be past it, or move on.”  
  
Booker didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, and she took a risk and moved even closer, pressing her body against his side. It wasn’t romantic, or even friendly, just one human being trying to comfort another, “He said that sometimes the _kindest_ thing we can do for someone with scars is to tell them they aren’t _less_ for having them. And that they are still whole, and precious and loved - “ she almost said “by God”, but realized she didn’t know if Booker was religious. For all she knew he could be angry _at_ God, and that was a whole 'nother conversation. So she let that last part drop.  
  
“If you really feel you can’t talk to me about them - “ he flinched a little when she said that, but otherwise remained silent, “Then I hope you can to talk to someone about it, but either way Sebastien, please know I want to hold space for you, and I don’t want you to pretend you’re not hurting.”  
  
A shallow breath caught in his throat, seemingly unsure if he wanted to hide or allow her to see the pain. He kept his face down, but his hands roamed up her arms, and she widened the embrace wrapping them around his shoulders until he could hug her back. His face settled in the crook of her neck, and he didn’t really _cry_ , or wail, or curse or even talk - but she felt a few tears wet her skin, and her own hand moved to his cheek before settling behind his neck. 

And they clung to one another for who even knew how long. 

No one saying anything else, no one making a move, just holding each other.   
  
It was the kindest thing she could do for him, and she prayed a thank you to her Dad for teaching her that lesson before he died.  
  
At some point, maybe because it had been so late to begin with, or just because of how difficult the emotions were for him, but she realized his even breathing and heavier body implied he had fallen asleep against her. She could have carefully laid him on the couch - the man seemed to be able to contort his body in all sorts of pretzel like ways - that surely a night on even her flimsy couch wouldn’t be horrible. But she didn’t want to leave him waking up alone. So slowly, inch by inch, she leaned back and back until she could grab a few throw pillows and lay down with Booker following against her. His legs were still slumped over the edge, but otherwise it was about as comfortable as one could get she hoped. Surely he’d wake up at any moment, be terribly embarrassed, and she’d whisper words of comfort and tell him it was okay - before he’d probably try to duck out. 

Raising her own legs, she swung them over his lap, settled as best as she could, and fell asleep running her fingers through his hair.  
  
She didn’t wake up till the next morning - she was right though, Booker was gone. Though she was surprised she hadn’t woken up to him leaving. She realized a blanket from her bedroom had been draped over her at some point, and as her eyes glanced around the room (maybe even hoping he was simply using the bathroom), she spotted a folded piece of paper by the Christmas tree.   
  
Swinging the blanket off, she didn’t even care that she sort of stumbled as her legs were still waking up, and hurriedly picked up the note. But all it said was “Merci Beaucoup - S.” next to her tickets, and she prayed, _prayed_ she hadn't messed it up.  
  
She spent the entire day wondering if she should text him, to check in or give him space - or pack . . . _God_ , she still needed to call her mom to even tell her she was coming!  
  
The next day, when she was at the airport, she caved to his radio silence and sent a selfie of herself at the gate thanking him again for making this happen - and that she hoped to see him as soon as she got back. He texted back immediately, said he would _‘look forward to it’_ , and then sent her a smiley face - and that message alone helped relieve her of the fear that maybe she had chased him away.

And she was determined not to let his gift go to waste - and enjoyed every day she spent with her family (though she did miss the others, and Booker especially). Then, the day before she was coming back, her mom asked her about Booker:  
  
“What about him?”  
  
Her mom looked up from her phone, “Well you’ve only brought the man’s name up in every conversation you’ve had here baby.”  
  
“I - I have not.” And her mom laughed, just as boisterous as Nile tends to do.  
  
“Hunny at this point, I think I know more about this man, then I do about you,” and Nile knew she was teasing, because that was ludicrous, but she understood the point - and she wondered if she had said too much. She didn’t mention his sobriety, or his past, or his age. Not because she was embarrassed about any of those things, but because she wanted her mom to meet him and get to know him first. 

Wait, was she planning on bringing Sebastien to Chicago at some point?  
  
 _Yes_ , her mind responded immediately.  
  
Her lack of a response, only egged her mom on more. But now her voice was softer, “You love him don’t you?”  
  
“Yes Mama, I think I do.”  
  
 _Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody still with me? ;)
> 
> I promise this is the saddest chapter in this whole thing, so hopefully I didn't lose anyone - I promise in the next chapter we will see:  
> \- Booker's reaction to waking up next to Nile <3  
> \- The "I'm Dating My Best Friend"-trope reaches its peak ;)  
> \- And Booker has a talk with Andy, Quynh and Joe before Nile flies back . . . *____*


	7. Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas miracles abound for our characters in this chapter - Booker makes a new plan, Nicky gets a reality check from Quynh, and Joe heals some wounds from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys thank you if you've survived the last chapter, and are still here! <3  
> I promise this one is much, much fluffier! We have Booker's reaction to passing out at Nile (on Nile? ;) ).  
> We have the "I'm dating my best friend trope" reaching its peak (yay!)  
> And then we have some pretty epic found family moments . . . but it does get angsty again at the end - but it'll be resolved next week at the Masquerade (promise!).
> 
> Also, *TW (not spoiler free): addiction* is heavily discussed, because Booker will be working on Step 9 with accountability and amends - it's handled in a very affirming, and uplifting way, but still please be aware if you have any triggers around discussions of addiction and the effects of it on family and friends.
> 
> *TW (not spoiler free): references to familial death* Booker will be reflecting on the loss of his family - both in the beginning and towards the end of this chapter. There is some vague flashbacks of a memory of him waking up in the hospital that though is again referred to in vague terms, might be triggering for someone who has gone through a similar loss.
> 
> And *TW (not spoiler free): Nicky's sexuality and experiences* Nicky is going to be honest with Joe and discuss both of these things. It is my favorite part of the chapter, because of how vulnerable he is, and how affirming Joe is . . . however, the vague references of Nicky's previous experiences sound a bit questionable and *could* be potentially triggering? It's one sentence - so hopefully nothing overwhelming, and Joe is again, very supportive and affirming and 2/3rd of this chapter is FLUFF.
> 
> And finally *TW (not spoiler free)* Booker has a mild panic attack at the end, and the descriptions of he's feeling might be triggering, though I tried to handle that vaguely as well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this 14k+ addition (I keep thinking each chapter will get shorter, and nope - LONGER) EEK.

**Chapter Six - Christmas Miracles**

_“My dear, how can I make you perceive that there is no danger where there is nothing but love and understanding?” - Shirley Jackson_

**The Next Morning, Nile's Apartment - Dec 19th**

It was the sun coming in through the open window that woke him up. Little streaks of ever increasing light that began to flood the once dark room.

But it was the feeling of his heart, leaping up into his throat that had made him realize what had happened last night . . . he had fallen asleep against Nile, and - she let him? Stayed with him all night? His eyes gazed at the dark skin that he was laying against, his forehead pressed against her neck, and getting an eyeful of her bra right _there_ peeking out from underneath the stretched shirt. It felt inappropriate to stare, especially seeing as she didn't appear to be awake . . . though who knew for sure, he was too embarrassed to look up.

He felt her fingers in his hair, smelled that citrus perfume that's haunted his senses since their second meeting, and he realized his own arm was draped over her stomach, his hand drooped by her rib cage - her breath controlled and even as she exhaled and inhaled against the light pressure of his grasp. He hadn’t held a woman like this in a long, long time. 

Would he wake her if he sat up? What would he say? Worse, what would _she_ say?

Why did she even let him . . .

It would be easier to slowly untangle himself away from her, one careful move at a time, and - _leave? God_ , why was that his first instinct . . .

She only stirred a little as he began the process, still too focused on keeping her asleep to turn his head for fear she'd be looking directly at him. And when he sat up, his back now firmly against the couch, he realized her legs were over his - his hand resting on her thigh (which he had only grabbed onto that to balance himself, sure _sure_ ).

Finally he glanced over at her, and as his eyes roamed over her slightly curled up body, his fingers dug a little into the denim she was wearing - though he really hadn't meant to do _that_ . When he caught her lips curving a little, like she _liked_ that, he lifted his hand off before he accidentally did that again. Yeah, accident - _right_.

 _She - she was just being nice_ , comforting him over . . . _Mon Dieu_ , she knew everything didn't she? Well, likely the forgeries, _right?_ But his past, his - his family. 

Booker closed his eyes, his head leaning back and trying to process the conversation from last night: 

She said Andy knew about them . . . but what exactly did that mean? About them wanting to go on a date soon, because he still couldn't wrap his head around _that_ one. His sobriety had to be about him, about feeling worthy to choose himself over a drink, but he couldn't lie and say having the goal of going on a date with Nile in six weeks wasn't a _great_ incentive. 

Andy told Nile about his family . . . God that horrible night, when he fell down a bottle with Andy, and emerged with tears and screams and ranting about the people he loved either dying or acting like he didn't know loss - but who's fault was that really? _He_ was the one who didn't tell them, the best friends he had had since, well he couldn't even remember. But did he have to taint those relationships with his own grief? It was bad enough the way it swallowed him sometimes, he didn't want it to bleed into his friendships. And then it did anyway.

And Andy told Nile she still loved Booker . . . and that felt both rewarding _and_ undeserving. This whole time he had figured that they wouldn't be interested if he reached out for help - and that was his fault, he had left in the first place - but if she still loved him, maybe Joe did, too? He missed Joe terribly. He missed them both. If they loved him, like he loved them, too, then maybe they would help him - not because that was his end goal, or even desperation, but because he didn't want to _keep_ running - and he definitely didn't want to use Nile as his messenger like this. 

_God Nile_ \- beautiful, thoughtful, charming, radiant, fiery, energetic, intelligent, comforting - Nile and her words about scars, and that it was okay to grieve, and okay to still be mourning, and then she held him. _That happened_ . . . he must have fallen asleep after that, and she - pulled them back onto the couch? He should have woken up uncomfortably, sandwiched between her and the couch, but instead, he slept better than he had in awhile. Rested even.

Maybe it's because she let him get it out a little - gave him the permission that he needed to work on giving himself when it came to his loss - and her words rang inside his mind: _One day at a time . . . You have scars. You are not less for having them. You are whole, and precious and loved._

Part of his grief was trying to feel like he did before these losses, and she reminded him he wouldn't. And he was not less for it. Ugh, he should have taken those grief counseling sessions the hospital had recommended. But the bottle was easier to dive into, than to do inner work of the grief process. And honestly, he _had_ processed it in bouts here and there, time really did help with that, but he didn’t have the tools he needed to handle the moments where it would flood him suddenly. Like when Andy raved at him in a drunken stupor, or when Nile asked him about them last night. Because _then_ he’d have to think about how their deaths were hard enough - but how also the _symbol_ of their deaths, the loss of a _future_ wiped out in one horrifying moment - was another.  
  
He remembered waking up in the hospital, and when they told him what had happened, clamoring at the tubes and IV lines certain he had woken up in the lowest levels of purgatory. And clutching _and_ shoving against the doctors and nurses, shouting for a priest - shouting for God - _begging_ to confess any sins of his that might have put him in this dark, horrible place, to whoever would listen so he could join them in Heaven. When he realized he had survived, _that_ was infinitely worse . . . he had felt like he was in Hell. 

Sometimes he still felt like he was in it.

Nile stirred a little, shifting onto her side now that Booker wasn't holding her down with his weight on her - he cautiously put his hand just above her knee, and she stilled. Like his touch was comforting. 

For the last eighteen years, he feared his chance of a future was lost inside a heap of metal and glass that he shouldn't have survived, and the guilt of that survival felt unbearable. He thought his hope of a family died that night, and yet . . . was there a second chance here?

Even though he couldn't believe it, questioned it every day, wondered if he was dreaming - she wanted to date him. She saw him at his worst (well, _legal_ worst), met him at a terrible time in his life, and _still_ felt he was worth waiting for. 

He didn't deserve this woman. But he'd claw his way out his own mess to keep her. To be worthy of her. Because . . . he wanted to make her proud of him, wanted to make her smile, wanted to see her get her own classroom at Bythewood, wanted her to feel as supported by him as he did by her, wanted - wanted her.

He knew what he had to do now. And though yes, technically he was going to be leaving again, that had more to do with trying to figure out the dynamics of the new plan. A plan of accountability and amends and humbling himself in a way he should have done a long time ago. And Nile had done enough - more than enough, it was his turn now, and he'd let her enjoy her vacation while he went to work.

Picking up her legs around her calves, he slid out from under her and debated waking her up - at least telling her thank you, and that he couldn't wait to see her when she came back. But she looked so peaceful and content and she'd need to pack today . . . and maybe he was a little afraid that he would spend all day in this apartment, feeling far _too_ comfortable, saying far _too_ much, and not enough. No, he needed to go - _but first_.

First he went to her bedroom, and tried not to linger in the almost bare room. And he definitely did _not_ try to notice the lace bra at the foot of the bed . . . just hurriedly grabbed the comforter and walked back to her still sleeping and carefully laid it over her. Then he kneeled down beside the couch, face level with hers, and watched her for a moment _like a creep_ .   
  
He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to kiss her because _yikes, she is sleeping man_ . Instead he looked at her one last time and whispered, “Goodbye Nile.”  
  
Just as he had finished standing up, she stirred a little, smiled and said, “Goodbye Seb.”  
  
He stilled, waiting for her eyes to open, but she snuggled deeper into the comforter. Eyes closed, body relaxed and he realized she was still asleep. She had never called him that before, and he liked it. He _really_ needed to get going . . .  
  
Walking over to her kitchen, Booker grabbed some paper and pen, wrote a quick note, and placed it next to her tickets. He really hadn’t planned for anything but a nice Christmas present for her, but this kind of worked out perfectly. While she was gone, he’d do the work, and when she came back - they could have an honest conversation. About his work, about trying to get out of this mess, and about how deep his feelings ran for her.  
  
Quietly he lifted his keys off the hook she had by the door, and spotted hers - with an interesting oval keychain inscribed with a quote about family. He vaguely remembered it was from a Disney movie, and read it finding it quite appropriate. A broken, self made, found family. _Still good_.  
  
Could she be his second chance, his own little family? He hoped so.   
And that felt both thrilling and scary all at the same time.

But she was worth it . . . because as he glanced back at her one last time, pausing with his hand on the door knob - he finally accepted what he had probably known for a while: he was in love with her.  
  
 _Merde._

* * *

**24th of December - Whole Foods Market**

  
  
Nicky could not believe he had managed to forget two ingredients for their Christmas dinner. Joe would be showing up in less than three hours, and Nicky had made a quick dash to the store, eternally grateful that he caught the tail end of the reduced holiday hours - or else who knew what they were going to end up eating. With the hand basket full, he headed towards the checkout, and was surprised to hear a familiar voice calling after him, “Nicky!”  
  
When he turned back he saw Quynh, who looked as bright and cheerful as ever, and gave him a warm hug that he happily returned, “What are you doing here on Christmas Eve, I thought you had plans?”  
  
Nicky pointed to the basket, “I managed to forget some ingredients for our dinner tonight - should have plenty of leftovers for the morning, too.”  
  
Quynh’s eyes widened a little, and she smiled, “In the morning?”  
  
“Joe is spending the night, since we wanted to spend Christmas together,” and though he thought he had already said something very similar at Quynh’s party just six days ago, maybe he had not been clear, he did tend to mumble sometimes.  
  
Quynh clasped her hands together and looked positively radiant, though Nicky wasn’t exactly sure why . . . “Oh I am so glad you guys talked things through then. A Christmas sleepover, what a romantic holiday date.”

He wasn’t even sure he heard her right, “What?”  
  
Quynh must have assumed she hadn’t been as clear with her much milder accent, and simply repeated the same words, which had confused Nicky in the first place: “A sleepover? I said it was a nice romantic date?”  
  
That’s what he _thought_ he had heard her say, and shook his head with a smile, “We aren’t dating.” He didn’t know why, but he was gripping the hand basket hard enough that his fingers were begging him to stop. Instead a dry laugh that fooled no one escaped from him, “We’re just friends - best friends. We aren’t _dating_ .”

Quynh’s face looked utterly serious, but a slight curve still peaked out in the corner, “Several times a week.”

“Hmm?”

Quynh extended her hand, like somehow she knew before she replied that he might need something else to hold on to, “ _‘You’re not dating’_ several times a week - “  
  
Nicky dismissed it easily, because frankly it didn’t make sense, “Well I mean, we do spend a lot of time together, Joe just wanted to like have a friend outside of work - he misses Booker a lot, and it’s been nice for me to have a habibi, too.”  
  
Quynh chuckled, and explained what habibi _really_ meant - and Nicky thought he was starting to get lightheaded. But she wasn’t done, “Besides, I don’t think he was sketching Booker in his free time - “

Nicky cocked his head to the side, “Sketching - _what_ ?”  
  
Quynh took his hand in hers, and gently explained, “Pages and pages - fell out of his briefcase in the lounge last week.”

Nicky could feel his heart picking up speed, sounds beginning to muffle with how hard the blood was pumping in his ears, “Of _me_ ?”  
  
Quynh took a step forward, her other hand resting on his shoulder, “Oh boy, no wonder Joe is frustrated - someone needs to be direct, because Joe has been courting you a little too softly it seems. You don’t even know he’s doing it.”

If the ground would have given out underneath him, he would have been _less_ shocked by that than with what Quynh was suggesting. And he tried to explain the ludicrously of it, but his own voice sounded further and further away as he went on, “He - no, we’re _friends_ . We - go to dinner after work, and like exchange reading lists, and he asks me about Italy, and he tells me about Tunisia - and he showed me his favorite poems - "

Quynh’s voice felt like an echo, “Were they love poetry?”  
  
Nicky’s knees felt weak now, too, “I - uh -”  
  
“And he sketches you in his free time - "

Nicky repeated the words, almost absentmindedly, “And he sketches me in his free time.”

Quynh had a firm grip on him, and smiled when she saw something in his face - but he couldn’t begin to wonder what that was, “Do you like him?”  
  
Nicky’s cheeks felt warm, and he couldn’t look at Quynh anymore, “I - this - is embarrassing -” 

Quynh was undeterred, a viper slithering into his line of sight - but when she spoke, it was soft and kind, “Why, because you think he doesn’t like you, or because you hope he does?”  
  
Nicky felt unsure how to answer that, “I’ve never - been in a relationship with a man before.”  
  
Quynh rubbed her hands on the arm through his coat, assuring him as she asked the most obvious question, “Do you think you would like to be in one with Joe?”  
  
His body stilled, the blood resettled, his dizziness abated and the answer came clearly through - surprising even himself, “Yes.”  
  
She smiled, and gave his shoulder a pat, “Then you two should probably have a talk -”  
  
“Thank you Quynh -” he didn’t even know where to begin to process any of this - Joe was coming over in three hours. He still had to cook the dinner.   
  
Quynh grinned up at him, and shrugged like she hadn’t just pulled the rug out of from under him, “I know what it’s like not to realize things till much later, and time is precious - and I’m sure I’ve overstepped here, but I didn’t want you two to lose time like Andy and I had. And I did genuinely think Joe and you had talked about it if you were having a sleepover. I shouldn’t have presumed though.”  
  
Nicky blinked, pulling the basket a little closer now that he felt a little steadier, “I appreciate you Quynh, I know there was no malice here. And who knows when things would have moved along at the speed we were going.” _We_. That felt new to say.  
  
She seemed relieved, and offered to pay for his items, but he said it was fine - and even gave her a hug, really assuring her that she didn’t do anything wrong. She patted his cheek, and wished him luck, “Merry Christmas, Nicky.”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Quynh.”

\---

Nicky had tried - _really_ tried - to work on this dinner. He had started over three times before he realized he was just too distracted to give the Makroudh the justice it deserved. Worse, in the final attempt he had managed to burn the few pieces that looked sort of edible in the pan and _dear God, Yusuf is going to be here in less than an hour . . ._ his knees felt wobbly and before he could even stop himself, he began to slink down to the cold tile underneath him, but strangely that actually helped - he’d been feeling flushed ever since his talk with Quynh, and the cool stone felt nice against his shaky hands.

Luckily he had everything prepped for the main course already - the Shakshuka dish - which might have seemed odd to have for dinner with the eggs. But he chose it because _one_ , he wanted to make something special for Joe, and _two_ , Joe liked breakfast foods the most (or so he said once, as he dipped waffles in syrup and moaned at the flavor).   
  
Nicky’s head jolted back a little at the memory and he winced when it hit the oven door behind him. How was he going to be able to talk about running into Quynh, and the things she said ( _and the things I said_ ) if he couldn’t even handle this? He was beyond frazzled, and his kitchen was the epitome of the physical representation of his mental state: several dishes piled high in the sink from the previous two attempts at the desert, flour all over the countertops from when he ripped open the bag in frustration - because he had definitely _not_ thought about Joe possibly kissing him tonight, no that _couldn’t_ have been why . . .  
  
He closed his eyes, his hand rubbing the spot where it felt like the blood was rushing to, and tried to breathe through this, tried to slow down his out of control beating heart and think of how he was going to handle Joe walking through his door in now - he opened his eyes, and hurriedly got on his knees looking at the oven clock - _less than thirty minutes_ . And Joe tended to arrive early.  
  
He had been trying to push out the conversation with Quynh, but it was obvious his body was forcing him to deal with it (his distracted mind, and messy kitchen and burned desert was enough evidence). His mind (or heart?) would not be content with him not processing this beforehand - or worse, try to avoid this conversation, because what if Quynh had been wrong?? 

Nicky groaned as he sunk down further and further and further. 

Until his forehead was pressed against the tile, and he closed his eyes again.  
  
This had only happened twice before, where Nicky would get close to a man, become best friends - have fleeting moments of affection, think there was more to it, _confess_ those feelings - and be told they didn’t feel the same way, that they were straight and now he lost a friend, too. He had stopped trying to get close to a man since those experiences - until Joe.  
  
And now he had done it again, those fleeting moments where he thought maybe, _maybe_ this is something, but then he’d remember the past experiences and he pushed it away. Joe was just - _Joe_ , so warm and welcoming to everyone. They were fast friends, best friends right? _He sketches you and reads love poetry to you - but still_ . . . uh, even _if_ Joe felt something for him, would he be so understanding about the other stuff? About the fact that though he _wanted_ to, he had never even kissed a guy before. And then there was the other thing . . . the other issue.   
  
Who knew if he’d be interested in someone like him.  
  
He felt like his stomach was churning: unsure, uncertain and definitely scared. He knew he should have gotten ready - _at least take off the dirty apron man_ \- but he stayed on that tile floor for a few more minutes willing himself to have some courage. He hadn’t allowed himself to consider it before . . . to think someone like Joe, would want someone like him ( _and maybe he won’t once he finds out . . ._ ), but the thought of Joe holding him, and kissing him did sound nice.  
  
Nicky had barely gotten back on his own two feet, pulling the apron off and hanging it on the hook, before grabbing the cheese cloth that had been draped over his shoulder to wipe the oil off his fingers - when Joe knocked, and walked in before Nicky could even reply (he had forgotten he had left it unlocked).  
  
And there he was: as handsome as ever, even with the bulky winter coat, and a duffle bag over his shoulder - _because Santa Maria Madre di Dio he was spending the night_ \- how did he forget about that? _Oh yeah_ , because he was lost in the fact that Joe could possibly like him and he was going to try to talk to him about it, like right now, because here he was walking over to him after hanging up his own jacket . . . _say something, speak dammit._ _  
_  
He opened his mouth, he really tried, but instead he just gripped the cloth between his hands a little tighter and obviously (because _of course_ ) Joe noticed and stopped walking towards him, “Nicolo, are you alright?”  
  
He nodded, but his eyes probably still looked a little wide, because how was he going to make it through dinner if he couldn’t even make it through Joe arriving? And then he looked down, and took a deep breath, “I - I ran into Quynh at the store because I forgot some things for dinner, and I still managed to mess it up and - “ _she said you like me . . ._ _  
_  
Joe stepped a little closer, passing the dinner table already _and good God he even smelled nice, was that a new cologne?_

“Hey it’s okay if dinner is burnt, we can always eat leftovers or something,” he shrugged, all endearing with that lopsided grin and Nicky felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, as he shook his head.

“It’s not about the dinner - I mean, _yes_ , thank you um of course I can find something else for desert, luckily the Shakshuka came out okay, just need to heat it up, add the eggs - “  
  
Joe beamed, “You made Shakshuka?”  
  
Nicky relaxed a little under his excitement, and shrugged his shoulders, “I just thought that with you not getting to be in Tunisia this year, and you probably miss your family and I just wanted to make you something familiar and um, I made sure to use halal meat but the Makroudh was - “ ( _well I would have gotten it done if I didn’t think about you possibly being interested in me_ ). He fell silent, and looked away.  
  
“I want to be here habibi, I hope you know that.“  
  
Nicky felt his cheeks flush, and he wished he could slink back to the kitchen floor again to press his skin against the tile, “Quynh told me - told me what habibi means.”

“Oh,” Joe replied but it was quiet, and hesitant? Nicky could see him unslinging the bag and placing it in the chair beside him, but otherwise he remained by the table - just a few feet away, “What else did you two talk about?”

Nicky could feel himself twirling the cloth in his hands, curling it around his fingers as his nerves began to bleed out of his body. _Maybe this won’t be like those other times, Joe sketches me - no one has drawn me before. Breathe, just breathe_ , “I told her about you spending the night, and she assumed some things - “  
  
Joe sucked in a breath between his teeth but otherwise didn’t respond so Nicky continued, even when his head felt like it was pounding, “And um I told her we weren’t dating or anything and then she told me about your sketches of me and how you’re courting me so softly I don’t even know it . . . and - “. _And - are you? Say it Nico, say it out loud . . ._ “Do you have feelings for me?”  
  
“Yes,” came his immediate response, Nicky’s eyes shot up to Joe - who stood there, reserved and otherwise indiscernible, seemingly just as unsure as he was. Maybe he read something in Nicky’s face - likely, shock - because he softened a little under that look, “You really didn’t know did you?”  
  
Nicky felt like the whole world had tilted on its axis, unsteady and shaken and - _really? Yusuf has feelings for me?_ And Nicky felt confused, because it just didn’t make sense, “You’re just so kind and charming to everyone, I didn’t realize it might run deeper with me.”

“It runs endlessly with you.”  
  
Joe is serious, more serious than he had ever imagined he could be, and Nicky felt downright feverish at this point. But also very stupid for not having understood it sooner (though he wondered if he could _ever_ understand it), “I’m sorry I’ve been so dumb.”  
  
Joe’s brow furrowed, as if that statement was so out of bounds, “You are _not_ dumb - you are one of the smartest people I know.”

Nicky tucked his chin to his chest, his knuckles looking white at how much he had wrapped this cloth around his fingers. Maybe he wasn’t dumb when it came to textbooks, or paperwork, but people’s emotions? About feelings - and especially when it came to his sexuality - he just wanted to explain why he hadn’t realized sooner, “I thought you just wanted a friend.”

“I want you,” and the way he said it, with a little uncertainty in his voice, as if maybe the quietness in Nicky’s statement carried more weight than he had intended, made Nicky realize that Joe might be thinking he’s denying him.  
  
 _No, never._ With more steadfastness than he had had in the last three hours, he looked back up, all sincerity in both his gaze and body language, “You have me.”

Where _he_ suddenly got this confidence from he could not say, because he surprised himself with how certain he sounded. Just as certain as when he told Quynh that “yes” he would like a relationship with Joe, because he _did_ . He just hadn’t thought that was possible till tonight.

But whatever swift bout of confidence he had mustered, faltered when he watched Joe push himself away from the chair he had been leaning against - the epitome of . . . Suaveness? Debonair? _Gallant_ \- whatever it was, Nicky felt himself going back a step, still clutching the towel in his hands, until he pressed against the cold wall behind him (which thank God helped as well as the tile floor to soothe his nerves a little - he was worried he was going to break out in a sweat or something). His eyes closed for a moment, trying to steady his heart rate.  
  
Was Joe walking towards him to _kiss_ him? 

He did want to kiss Joe, but he was worried he'd be bad at this . . . "Nicolo."

He had reached him, _oh so close_ , and Nicky opened his eyes - one hand by his head balancing against the wall - but his face, his face was so close he could count the freckles on them. He briefly contemplated closing his eyes again, _because you’re supposed to close your eyes for this, right?_

But Joe hadn't - as hooded and glassy as they were - they looked down at him in a way that made him shudder a little, " . . . Yusuf."

Then Joe leaned forward, warm breath against his lips, as his other hand reached up, curving fingers against his neck (could he feel how fast his heart was going?) But his thumb pressed against Nicky’s chin, tipping his head back gently . . . and then Joe paused. Staring down into his very soul it seemed, but otherwise _still_. 

And then Nicky realized Joe was waiting for him to meet him halfway, because maybe even confident Joe needed some assurance that yes, Nicky _wanted_ to kiss him. 

Nicky leaned into him but he didn't close his eyes - and neither did Joe - even when his lips brushed against his. It was tentative, unsteady even . . . And when Joe carefully licked the seam, curling his tongue into his mouth - his eyes watery with so much emotion in them - Nicky heard the fabric of the kitchen towel rip in his hands. Not that he could find the will to care.

Joe's tongue was swirling in his mouth, and Nicky’s eyes finally closed shut as he tilted his head into his hand, a groan emitting from deep in his chest. 

No way could he ever kiss a woman again after experiencing this - because no kiss with a female had _ever_ felt like this - or maybe it was just Joe. Maybe only Joe could enlist the sounds coming out of him. 

When Joe pulled back, Nicky felt his fingers curling around the torn cloth, thumbling with the fabric as he slowly opened his eyes and saw Joe's relief - all tenderness and sweetness. And Nicky felt like his heart was swelling, or about to burst, one or the other, "Thank you for doing that - because I don’t know if I would have ever found the courage to." Joe's fingers glided along his neck, moving a little into his hairline, relieved to hear it as he pressed his forehead against Nicky’s. And then Nicky had to go and ruin it, "I've- I've never kissed a man before."

A little embarrassed - well a lot - he closed his eyes and looked down. He wanted to explain, but was afraid to say anymore. It didn't help that Joe moved back, and away, and Nicky felt his body follow - like he didn't want him to pull away just yet.

"Did you like it?" he hated the way Joe's voice sounded, like he was unsure, and it only amplified Nicky's concern that he wasn't good at this if Joe couldn't tell. 

Maybe he needed the words, " . . . Very." _You were supposed to use words, Nico, plural._ That would have to do because his face felt like it was burning again.

That helped abate the tension a little, and when Joe extended his hand towards him Nicky took it without flinching, all warmth and security in that one touch alone. It felt nice, “Let’s sit down and talk Nicolo.”  
  
Nicky nodded, allowing Joe to lead them to the couch and once he took his seat, Nicky debated if they should sit close or apart - because had everything changed now? It had felt so nice when he had leaned against Joe at Andy and Quynh’s Christmas party, and several times since when they were watching a movie, Nicky would lean against his shoulder because he tended to run cold - well except now, now his apartment felt like an oven.  
  
He sat down one couch cushion away from Joe, and instantly regretted it, only because he enjoyed the comfort that came with leaning against him, “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you earlier - I should have told you how I felt weeks ago.”  
  
Nicky felt his heart flip flop, _weeks?_ He had liked him for weeks??  
  
“But I want us to talk now Nicolo, and be really honest - but only if you’re comfortable with it,” Nicky wasn’t following, but let Joe continue, “And please know if you don’t want to answer my question, you can just say, _‘I’d rather not say’_ , and I won’t ask again . . . but - “  
  
Nicky steeled himself, unsure of what he was about to ask - but grateful Joe gave him a script to use if he decided it was too heavy, “Are you a virgin?”  
  
Nicky would have rather sunk into the couch cushions than talk about his sexuality but _if_ they would have any chance of - well whatever this was - Joe deserved to know what he was getting into. He shook his head, “No, I’m not.” He offered a weak smile that did nothing to abate Joe’s inquisitive look.  
  
“But you’ve never kissed a man before?”  
  
“I uh - “ his hands curled and uncurled against his thighs, and he exhaled slowly, “when I’ve had sexual feelings they were for men, but only two friends over the years - and well _they_ weren’t gay, and then those friendships died.”  
  
“So I tried with women, but it - well, it didn’t really feel right. I mean, um, my body responded to what they were doing - but I guess I kinda just laid there until they were done, because I thought that’s what they wanted.”  
  
It sounded silly in his mind, but when he cautiously looked back up, Joe looked sad - and he didn’t really understand why, “Nicolo, please don’t ever do that with me.” Joe’s face looked genuinely pained now, and Nicky felt himself scooting a little closer, wanting to offer comfort but unsure what to say.  
  
“If we have sex, it better be cause you want to - not because you just laid there thinking it’s what I want.”  
  
Now he felt _really_ bad, like he wasn’t explaining this well . . . _just tell him Nicolo get it over with_ , “I’m gay, but I’m also demisexual.”  
  
Joe’s face softened a little, “And what does that mean to you?” Somehow him saying that, versus _‘What does that mean?’_ felt more personal, and he appreciated it, if only because surely it might vary for each person and he didn’t want to make blanket statements. 

Still he moved a little closer, his knee very close to Joe’s thigh, “I um, I don’t have that initial sexual attraction that most people get right away with someone. It forms later, like it did with my friends - over time. I can find people aesthetically pleasing and be romantically attracted, but the sexual feelings come later than for most people.” There was probably more to say, little nuances to give, but that was as generic as he could make it, and he prayed Joe wouldn’t walk out of him for it. Wouldn’t say it was weird.  
  
“Are you attracted to me? Romantically?”  
  
Nicky could see Joe’s hand resting between them, and without looking up at him, reached for it and intertwined their fingers, “Yes.”  
  
“Is it okay if I kiss you again?” he felt closer, and Nicky looked up, seeing Joe leaning in a little, but still restrained (if only barely).

Nicky leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking up into those gorgeous dark eyes of his, “You never have to ask that - I _liked_ you kissing me, I’d like if you _kept_ kissing me.” Then he traced the back of Joe’s hand with his thumb and smiled, “I also like it when we spend time together, and when we sit together and read books, and I want to snuggle with you.” But still he sighed, a little worried to ask the most important question in all this, “Is it okay if the other stuff happens later?”  
  
“Of course it’s okay,” then Joe took his other hand, and cupped Nicky’s jaw, just like he had against the wall, and it felt so personal and intimate to have him looking down into his eyes like this but he wouldn’t look away, not anymore, “You’re worth the wait, habibi.”  
  
His breath hitched in his throat, and Nicky could have died right then and there - overwhelmed, accepted, cared for, gentle and tender - so many wonderful things as he felt Joe’s steady hand roam behind his head and up until he could tangle his fingers into Nicky’s half bun. He felt Joe move closer to him, until his body was almost flush with his, just a smidge taller now as he tipped Nicky’s head back by his hair - just a gentle tug, so he could see Joe’s smirk, “I’ve been wanting to do that with your hair since the first day you walked into my office.”  
  
Nicky chuckled, because it felt ridiculous to imagine his dorky hair would have _this_ kind of effect on the man, but sure enough as he began to lower his lips to his, Nicky took his free hand and placed it on Joe’s wrist - feeling his pulse going just as fast as his.

His last thought before Joe’s lips pressed against his were: _I wonder if this is what falling in love is like._ _  
  
_

* * *

**Nicky's Apartment - Dec 26th**

Joe’s face was nuzzled against the back of Nicky’s neck, one arm under Nicky’s head, the other wrapped around his waist where their fingers were linked. Even their legs were entangled and Joe could not have been more content. Nicky’s quiet, even breathing, the gentle movements against himself felt soothing and he smiled against his skin as he dipped his lips to the curve leading to his shoulders.

To think that Joe had had it all planned out - to come here two days ago, declare his feelings and pray that Nicky felt the same way. And then instead he came here, to Nicky’s wide eyes and thumbling nerves, and learned of his run in with Quynh (oh he was going to have a talk with Quynh . . . and thank her profusely). Joe’s hand must have moved a little, because Nicky gripped his harder, though he still seemed to be asleep.  
  
Yes he had planned it all out, an _epic_ declaration of feelings and emotions and ready to beg him to give him a chance. Instead, _Nicolo Di Genova_ through a bundle of raw nerves (and gosh that poor towel), completely and beautifully wrecked his entire plan. And gah when he said _‘you have me’_ he couldn’t _not_ kiss him. And _mm_ , just the memory of tipping his head back, trying to take in this moment completely - to stop himself just before their lips could touch, needing Nicky to want this just as much as he did . . .  
  
 _Crap_ , he shouldn’t have dwelled on that pressed against Nicky’s body. He pulled his pelvis back a little, and luckily Nicky hadn’t stirred from the movement. Joe opened his eyes, trying to concentrate on baseball or something . . .

They had talked some more about Nicky’s sexuality and experiences (well more like lack of gay experiences), and Joe had been honest about his, too (if anything so he could assure him that how and when Nicky had sex was a deeply personal experience, and he cared about him and respected him). And then Joe asked that they just keep being honest, _let’s just keep talking as we go_ . He appreciated when Nicky was vulnerable and asked that they keep things above the waist for now, and above their clothes for a while, and Joe really, _really_ , was okay with that. Because he really did mean it when he told Nicky he was worth the wait.   
  
And the more he contemplated it, the words Quynh used about _courting me softly_ , the more he thought that was appropriate. In a way, the last 36 hours proved that because even though everything had changed, in many ways nothing had changed. A smooth transition that Joe had been pleasantly surprised by. 

Because they still moved around the apartment and each other, in sync, in an almost fog of domestic bliss. Cleaning, or cooking, taking turns doing the dishes, while the other dried. There was still that ease of quietness when Joe graded the exams on Nicky’s desk that he had brought over, while Nicky listened to music and read a book. And neither batted an eye when Nicky did his rosary, and Joe pulled out his prayer beads in the evening, just like they had done countless times before. And they still spent half the day watching movies (though yesterday was particularly adorable: Nicky had put on _Lord of the Rings_ , and talked about the Catholic influences of Tolkien’s faith in the story, but Joe struggled not to pepper kisses all over his cheeks because he got _so_ animated he started slipping into Italian and he couldn’t even follow along anymore).

Yes, in some ways it wasn’t all _that_ different - just deeper, more intimate. 

Really the only thing that had changed was on _top_ of all those things, Joe could now lean in and give into that desire for Nicky’s kisses - _oh the tender kisses!_ And even though Nicky had feared he was bad at it, Joe didn’t think so at all. Just a little timid, a little reserved, but based on what he had shared that made sense. 

But Joe couldn’t imagine kissing anybody else for the rest of his life. No one else made him smile like Nicky. No one else made his heart swell like this. He felt both protected _by_ him, and protective _of_ him. Nicky seemed downright confused in Joe’s interest in him, but at least never pushed back against Joe’s affections - he soaked up every touch, every kiss, every word . . . and all Joe could think of when he did was: _thank you for the privilege of this my Nicolo. My Nico. Mine._

And when Nicky talked about not fitting in (or that people tended to find him unassuming or nerdy), Joe thought that was ludicrous, because even the things he thought were embarrassing, were endearing to Joe - like how he nervously asked if Joe wanted to go to a fencing tournament with him in a month (as if he’d say ‘no’) . . . and Nicky beamed at him, when Joe happily agreed. He hoped the fact that Nicky was planning events for them in a month meant he wanted the same kind of permanence Joe was craving.

But it was the trust Nicky gave Joe that really melted his heart. He had fully expected to stay on the couch, but after their talk on Christmas Eve, Nicky said he trusted Joe - and that he liked the way Joe’s arms felt around him, and if it didn’t make _him_ uncomfortable, he was welcome to lay in the bed with him. And Joe could have cried, but tried to play it cool: settling into the space against the wall since it felt a little cooler, before Nicky climbed in beside him, facing away but inviting Joe to hold him if he’d like . . . And Joe entangled himself around him like he was now, listening to Nicky say his evening prayers under his breath as he fell asleep. While Joe thanked Allah for this gift in his arms.

And though Joe was only supposed to spend Christmas Eve, neither wanted him to leave, and while Nicky hadn’t said when he should go back to his own place - Joe hoped it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Or whenever he _did_ go back to his apartment, maybe he could find a way to bring Nicky along. After all, Nicky’s lease had shifted to a month to month after his first year term came and went . . .  
  
Between the feelings, and the ease, and desire for domesticity - Joe knew, _knew_ that he had a second chance of an epic declaration when he would tell Nicky he was in love with him - because _of course_ he was. He had known it beforehand, but the last thirty six hours sealed it.

And he knew exactly how he wanted to tell Nicky he loved him. He’d do it at the masquerade in a few days - _in four days_ \- because he had asked Nicky to go with him (though that was a week ago, and he certainly did not use the term “date” but Nicky agreed anyway). And they had picked out some suits, and ironically had an appointment for a final fitting today. He had even looked up the building that was being used and saw the ballroom had a heated balcony, encased in glass panels that would shelter them from the cold.  
  
The stars would shine above them, and Nicky would look _so_ handsome and he could tell him how his kisses made him _see_ stars. How he wanted to bask in his radiance that shined gently like the moon, and -  
  
 _Beep._  
  
He had set his phone on _do not disturb_ , save for calls and messages from contacts so when his phone let him know he had a notification, he figured he’d better check it before it began to ring (which was usually only ever his parents who called). Carefully he tried to reach over Nicky to his nightstand, but understandably he stirred awake and blinked up at Joe who was hovering above him - a little surprised, but otherwise not bothered, “Good morning.”  
  
Joe almost forgot all about the phone, leaning down until he could give him a gentle kiss before placing his forehead against him, “Good morning habibi.” Soon, very soon Nicky would know just how much he meant those words.  
  
His phone beeping again reminded him of his original intention, and Nicky followed Joe’s movements as he picked up his phone and resettled into his spot on the bed. Nicky had waited for Joe to still and then leaned down against his body, pressing his head into the crook of Joe’s arm. He sighed, yawned, and buried his face into the grooves of his sweater, “Five more minutes”  
  
“You can stay against me all day if you’d like.”  
  
Nicky chuckled, wrapping his arm over his belly, hand curving over his side, “You should probably answer that.”  
  
Joe looked at his screen, he hadn’t even heard the third message notification. They were all from Quynh, and he grinned wondering if she caved at Nicky’s and Joe’s mutual radio silence with the outside world, and was now demanding an update. He was utterly unprepared for what she wrote when he swiped at the screen to unlock the phone:

 _Good morning Joe (and Nicky?) ;)_ _  
__  
__Joe can you call us when you have a moment?_ _  
__  
__It’s serious - it’s about Booker._

  
Joe sat up so fast, Nicky flopped backwards on the bed but he didn’t seem to mind, even laughing a little, “Okay, okay I’m awake.”  
  
But Joe couldn’t look back at him yet, unsure if he should call Quynh right then and there, or allow himself to remain in the bubble of all things Nicky for just a little longer. When he felt Nicky’s arm wrap around his chest from behind, surely seeing the messages for himself when his chin rested on his shoulder, Joe was relieved when Nicky decided for him, “Go call her - it’s okay, I’ll make us some breakfast.”  
  
Joe nodded, but otherwise remained silent, because he always had so many conflicting feelings when it came to Booker. Part of him wanted to shake him and demand to know what he wasn’t saying - while the other part wanted to ensure he didn’t go to jail because of fucking Merrick. 

When Nicky began to reheat the Makroudh they had made yesterday - the smell wafting into the small apartment - Joe thought of how excited Nicky was then, taking in every step as Joe prepped the dough. Downright thrilled it seemed to learn a new dish - and dammit, he wanted to ignore this message and just go in the kitchen instead . . .  
  
But Quynh wouldn’t have sent back to back messages if it wasn’t important, and Nile wasn’t coming back till tomorrow, and if Booker was in trouble - he really only had them to help.   
  
He pressed the button to dial her and she answered on the first ring, “Good morning Quynh, what’s- “

“Are you at Nicky’s?”  
  
“What? Is that why you texted me to find out - “  
  
“No, no - I’m just curious if you’re _still_ at Nicky’s.”  
  
Of course in that very moment, Nicky whipped his head around the half wall of his kitchen and shouted, “Tell Quynh good morning from me please!”  
  
And Quynh shrieked into the phone while Joe groaned. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed, he just wanted to be left alone with Nicky for as long as he could be. Nicky had disappeared again, resuming the cooking process and Joe heard Quynh moving - probably close to Andy. _Great._  
  
“You owe me fifty bucks.”  
  
Joe’s eyes widened, “What?”  
  
“Not you, Andy - Andy, cough it up.”  
  
He could hear Andy groaning, but Quynh must have kissed her or something, because Andy was chuckling when she said not to spend it all on post Christmas sales for the 90% off candy.

Joe was downright aghast, “Wait, did you two have a bet?”  
  
Quynh chirped, “ _Maybeee_ . Nile owes me fifty, too.”  
  
Joe closed his eyes, “My relationship is so off limits to gambling -”  
  
“So it _is_ a relationship now?”  
  
Joe sank back into the bed, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, “Quynh you said this was about Booker - “  
  
Finally Quynh’s tone changed, and she paused - which did not help steady Joe at all, “He reached out to us Joe.”  
  
Joe lowered his hand, “Really?”  
  
“Yeah, he asked if we would be open to meeting, and he wanted to talk about some things from a few years ago. And Andy said ‘yes’, but we wanted to know if you’d like to be here when he comes over? We asked him if that was okay, and he said he would love to see you, too.”  
  
Joe felt a tightness in his chest, like he wanted to _and_ didn’t want to . . . and the breakfast smelled nice, and he just wanted to hide in Nicky’s apartment for a little longer, “What time?”  
  
“Eleven - Andy and I are ordering some lunch,” Quynh sounded so serious, as much as he sounded tired, and he wondered if this was a good idea. But - he did _want_ to see Booker.  
  
“Can I talk to Andy for a minute?” Quynh handed the phone over right away, “Hey boss - “  
  
He could hear Andy’s smile through the phone, “Hey Joe - kind of crazy huh?”  
  
“Do you think - do you think it’s sincere?”  
  
Andy didn’t hesitate which helped Joe’s nerves immediately, “I think it is - do you want to be here?”  
  
Joe felt the bed dip and saw Nicky holding two plates - omelettes and the makroudh on the side. He would much rather stay in for a third day in a row, “Yes, I’ll be there.”  
  
“See you then.”  
  
After he hung up, he pulled himself up against the headboard, but honestly he felt even more tired now than when he had gone to bed last night. He took the plate though, sitting it in his lap, so Nicky could get more comfortable.  
  
Bless him, Nicky didn’t press, just waited to see if Joe would tell him. He had taken two bites of his omelette before Joe explained, “Booker reached out - and Andy and Quynh and I are meeting him at eleven.”  
  
Nicky had still been chewing, but swallowed quickly, “How - how do you feel about that?”  
  
Joe gripped the plate a little harder, “That I’d rather stay here with you - but, I think it’s important that I go.”

Nicky took his fork and sliced through the omelette for another bite, “I think it’s important, too.”  
  
They ate the rest in silence while Joe’s head swirled with the possibilities.  
  
Afterwards, when he took a shower, and gave himself a little trim he realized that he didn’t actually have fresh clothes - he had only packed a shirt and some underwear from his planned overnight . . . and now, he felt a bit embarrassed about it, but he propped open the bathroom door just a smidge, explained the predicament and asked if he could borrow some from Nicky, who only shook his head and told him to bring a suitcase next time so he could ‘just move in already’.  
  
 _Dammit Nicolo, I’m trying to work up the courage to_ leave _this apartment, and you have to go and say stuff like that._ Joe leaned his head against the door, and willed himself not to dwell on it, since surely Nicky was just teasing.   
  
“Here you go,” he saw Nicky’s hands holding a folded black sweater, some pants, gray socks - and boxers . . . which yeah he did _need_ to barrow but even Joe couldn’t help the blush forming on his cheeks at the thought of slipping Nicky’s boxers over his hips.  
  
He opened the door just a bit more, and reached for the clothes, and Nicky gulped a little at the sight of his very naked, very wet upper chest. He was going to make some sort of joke about being glad Nicky found him _aesthetically_ pleasing - with an emphasis on the word aesthetic, but Nicky’s eyes looked away, “If they don’t fit, I can look for something else.”  
  
And then he walked away and Joe closed the door, beaming because the clothes even though they _were_ fresh, smelled like him, and he liked the idea of it (like in a way Nicky would be there with him at this meeting). He blushed a little as he put the boxers on, but otherwise tried not to think about where they had been. The pants were too short, stopping just above his ankles, and bigger around the thighs, which made Joe have all _sorts_ of thoughts of how nice Nicky’s thick thighs would be to grab onto . . . _sexual frustration is not a good look Joe, get it together._  
  
He moved onto the sweater, which was already enormous on Nicky, and the same on Joe but it would have to do. When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Nicky was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book and almost hidden inside the black hoodie Joe had bought him for Christmas. Nicky said he had hadn’t one since he was a teenager, and since he seemed to prefer to hide around others Joe thought he would appreciate it. Of course Joe was grateful to receive his thanks in multiple kisses that night.  
  
Nicky looked up when he realized Joe was stepping closer and gnawed on his bottom lip, stifling a smile. Joe extended his arms dramatically, “I look like a bat, Nicolo. I’m Batman now.”  
  
Nicky laughed until his shoulders shook and leaned his head against the couch, “I’m sorry, I do like my big sweaters.” Then he smiled, “Maybe you should pick up some things from your house on your way back - so you can stay longer if you’d like.”  
  
Joe grew more serious, loving the invitation and nodded, “I’d like that very much.”  
A look passed between them, before Joe’s alarm went off to remind him he needed to get going.

He reached for his winter jacket, and then the baseball cap Nicky had bought him for Christmas - _because it was the most American thing I could find_ \- and put it on, curls peeking out from everywhere. Nicky told him he looked _‘super handsome in it’_ when he first put it on the other night, and Joe promised to wear it all day as he pulled him close and dipped his head into the crook of his neck, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise.”  
  
Nicky wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed his mouth close to his ear, “It’s okay Yusuf, I’ll survive a few hours. Take all the time in the world.”  
  
Joe pulled back, looked down at Nicky’s face and sighed because he really, _really_ did not want to leave Nicky. Then he leaned in and kissed him as if he wasn’t going to see him again today (or tomorrow, or the next week). The kiss deepened until Joe finally pulled back needing to breathe, and the way Nicky’s eyes remained closed and only slowly opened, implied he had enjoyed it, too.  
  
“Okay,” Nicky’s arms tightened around his neck, “maybe not _all_ the time in the world - we do have that appointment in the afternoon.”  
  
Joe grinned, “If anything I’ll meet you there Nicolo.” _I love you._  
  
Nicky released his hold, and squeezed his hands before Joe finally found the will to move his legs and head out.  
  


* * *

**Andy & Quynh's Townhouse**

One whole week. That’s how long it took for Booker to be able to get through this apology letter. To work on _stupide étape neuf_ , and hopefully make the amends he needed. Shit, he had even gone over it with his sponsor who reminded him that this was important work, that he was proud of him, and surely them willing to meet him was a good sign (though when he talked to the man, he hadn’t actually asked to meet them yet). He had wanted to reach out earlier, but by the time he had written the pages out, and edited them down, and then added more - well by then, it was the 23rd and he felt weird about potentially infiltrating their holidays with an awkward meeting to discuss his sobriety.  
  
His sponsor, as supportive as he was, also reminded him that though it was imperative for his own well being to apologize - they were not obligated to forgive him, and to process that potential before meeting. So he took three days to think about how bad this could go. Even if they were compassionate about his sobriety, and his past - there was still the whole other thing: the forgeries. And he did not feel entitled to their help, but if they _did_ want to - then he wanted to work out a plan before Nile came back tomorrow. Because he didn’t want Nile stuck in the middle. She deserved better than that.

But boy even he understood how much of a risk he had taken by putting this off till the day before she was set to fly back in.  
  
In the morning, when he had called Andy’s office (and didn’t hang up before it could ring like he did twice before) - he was almost shocked into silence when Andy had answered (having expected her secretary). She was so, _so_ quiet when he explained he would like to meet her - and a little about why - and then Quynh took the phone from her, and said they would love to, and if she should invite Joe. He had never met this woman before, but she was talking to him as if he was some old friend of hers, and it kind of floored him. 

No wonder Andy had been drinking over losing her. 

He could relate.  
  
He thanked her kindly, said he’d love to see Joe - because he had planned on calling him next anyways - and then she asked him if he liked Vietnamese food. He chuckled, said he never had it before, and she laughed a little and said she’d order enough for everyone, and that she’d see him in a few hours.   
  
Then she hung up, and Booker sat in his chair wondering how the Hell that worked out so smoothly.   
  
Pulling up to Andy’s townhouse felt like a trip down memory lane. The last time he was here was three years prior - on that horrible night - around this same time, and was it ironic he had left drunk, and now he was coming back sober?  
  
He turned off the bike, stored the helmet, ran nervous fingers through the strands and pulled on his jacket to straighten it a little. Then he climbed the stone steps, raised his hand to knock on the door, and was greeted by Quynh opening the door before he actually could, “Booker, it’s nice to finally meet you.”  
  
Booker lowered his hand so he didn’t look like a complete idiot, “Uh, hi _Quynh_ ?”  
  
“Um-hm,” she stepped aside, “Please come in - “  
  
As soon as he walked in, he spotted Andy and already he felt a little unsteady, “Hi boss.“  
He hadn’t called her that in so long, and he probably had said it more out of habit than anything else, but he didn’t backtrack it - and she’d didn’t clarify that she had stopped being his boss years ago.  
  
But her almost statuesque frame did waver, and she moved closer, “Booker, I’m sorry about that night - “  
  
Out of _all_ the things he had expected her to say to him first, that was not one of them. Though he deeply appreciated it, and if she really felt the need to apologize he wouldn’t deny her the opportunity, but he wanted to be clear about why he was here (in case Andy assumed this was it), “Oh, I - um thank you Andy, but I’m actually here to apologize to _you_ guys.”  
  
Well Andy and Joe - and Booker realized Joe wasn’t there.  
He looked around the living room, beginning to get worried that maybe Joe had declined. And he’s understand if he had . . . maybe he could send the letter in the mail. He looked back at the two women, and could only muster a weak smile, “I guess Joe was busy?”  
  
Quynh shook her head, “Oh no, he’s coming - “  
  
And as if she couldn’t have planned it better, the front door swung wide open, and Joe rushed through, “Sorry I’m late - traffic was - “  
  
Joe stopped when his eyes saw Booker, frozen for a moment. _Shit_ , Booker wasn’t sure if Joe would talk to him, or stare him down, or maybe even yank him by his jacket and demand answers he was finally ready to give, “Hi Joe.”   
  
Maybe even Joe didn’t know what he wanted, because he remained at the door for one moment, until his face went a little soft. Then without a word, he walked over to Booker, raised his arms and pulled him into a hug so fast and so tight, Booker actually grunted against Joe’s shoulder.  
  
There was that familiar warmth he had missed, Joe was still the sun, and had missed how affectionate he was: _this feels nice_ . And he lifted his arms around Joe’s back and smiled against the - well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was wearing. Joe’s style sure changed a lot in the last two years.  
  
“Joe, let the man come up for air already,” Quynh interrupted, and Booker patted his back, silently assuring him (though of what exactly, he didn’t even know - maybe that if Joe let him go he wasn’t going to bolt out the still open door?). But when Joe pulled back, he looked away as if trying to hide how emotional he was, and Booker felt like he might just cry himself because he really hadn’t expected _that_ . Silence, anger, maybe pain, but happiness at seeing him? Nope.  
  
“What are you wearing?” Andy looked Joe over from bottom to top, and even reached over to tuck one set of Joe’s curls under the baseball cap, and Booker felt less bad about noticing.  
  
Joe swatted lightly at her hand, and chuckled, “I wasn’t planning on staying at Nicky’s this long, so I had to borrow some clothes - and yes, I _know_ I look ridiculous but I’m picking up some clothes from my place this afternoon. _Stop smiling_ .”  
  
Booker had remembered someone Joe had gone a few dates with like three years ago, but he didn’t think their name was Nicky. In fact, he had remembered in one of their last conversations ever, that Joe had grumbled about no one interesting living in the area, and Booker had joked he should start looking outside of the region then, “I’m happy you found someone Joe.”  
  
Joe and Andy stopped, looked over at him at the same time, and then Booker stilled because - well why were they looking at him like that? Then Quynh peeked out from behind them, and smiled, “Oh you _know_ Nicky.”

Booker didn’t follow at first, but then it hit him and his eyes went wide, and Joe actually looked like he was turning red, and Andy roared with laughter, “ _Nicky Di Genova_ \- our insurance guy?! You’re wearing _his_ clothes?”  
  
Joe groaned, and Andy elbowed him a little, “Yeah Joe, they are something on you - nice ankles, I think my delicate disposition has been compromised.”  
  
Quynh tugged at the wide space of fabric hanging on his frame, pulling it out to the side which forced Joe to lift his arm a little, “You look like a bat, Joe, I love it. BatJoe.”  
  
And Booker couldn’t stifle the laugh anymore, feeling like he could cry because he hadn’t allowed himself to think about how much he missed them . . . and how they could act so normal around him when he still owed them so much? When the laughter died down, Booker cleared his throat, and Quynh - who had literally met him minutes ago - walked over to him, and put a thin arm around his and said, “Let’s sit Booker, and talk okay?”  
  
Booker felt overwhelmed by her kindness, and had to look down, “Okay.”  
  
Then she led him further into the living room, followed closely by Andy and Joe. She pointed out a large chair by the fireplace, and then they took seats around him and . . . it was time. He knew it was time, this was safe, and okay, and he _could do this_ . They wanted to meet him, Andy laughed with him, Joe hugged him. This _could_ be okay. He could see them more often, maybe he could earn their trust after a while. Maybe they wouldn’t judge Nile for dating him . . . He took a deep breath, mediating on her words one last time:  
  
 _You have scars. You are not less than for having them. You are whole, and precious and loved._  
  
Then he looked down and unfolded the papers, eternally grateful he brought them with him because he likely would have forgotten every word because of the nerves running through him right now, “Um - thank you for allowing me to meet with you guys.”  
  
He wanted to glance up at them, but his fear got the better of him, and he kept his eyes focused on the red lines of the paper, “I wanted to apologize for keeping secrets from you, Andy and Joe, and wanted to share that I have been struggling with an addiction to alcohol for quite some time, and am currently in sobriety for ten months, two weeks and two days.”  
  
He heard Joe’s breath stagger a little, surprise he assumed, but no one said anything and he continued, “Because I have been working on the program, I am here today to take accountability and offer to make amends for several things - “  
  
Dammit, he was already starting to feel emotional. Not because he was ashamed, but because he was silently praying his words would be enough and that he could have them back in his life. He wanted it (and Nile) more than anything since his wife and baby died. He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat, “ Um, to make amends for several things - but first and foremost for not being a good friend, not being honest, and when faced with the possibility of discovery I chose to leave versus accept responsibility for my own actions.”   
  
He shifted a little in the chair, unsure and scared, but willing himself to continue, “I know I owe you both an emotional debt for these things, and likely more that I might not recall or remember, and I would like to ask you both to please be honest with me in return and tell me of anything else I might need to address but also I ask for your forgiveness.”   
  
His eyes felt watery, his throat burning, and he wished Nile was here, “I know that that might be too much to ask, and that though my addiction and loss of family might explain some of my behavior, it does not excuse it, and so please do not force yourselves to forgive me if that is me asking too much. Thank you for allowing me to share this letter with you.”  
  
He leaned back into the chair, still crumbling the pieces of papers in his hands, unable to look up . . . and then, barely a moment later, he saw Joe’s hand first out of the corner of his cloudy vision. He was leaning down, and moved his hand to Booker’s knee, gentle almost, “Booker, what do you mean family loss? Do you mean _us_ ? Or - “  
  
Booker glanced up at him, and upon seeing Joe’s confusion looked at Andy, who looked downright guilt ridden, holding Quynh’s hand, “You didn’t tell him?”  
  
Andy shook her head, and looked away, “I almost didn’t tell Nile - “  
  
Joe moved his head quickly towards her, “Tell me _what_ ?”  
  
Booker didn’t know if he could do this two times in one week. Maybe this would be too much for Joe, and it would be weird and he would look at Booker as this broken thing - _you have scars. You are not less than for having them_ . No, not broken, _scarred_ , but not broken. He needed to keep repeating that until he could believe it. Because how could he expect others not to look at him like that, until he could?   
  
He was here, because he wanted to be more honest, and so far nothing he had expected or feared had come to pass. And maybe he could handle this after all, too. Booker took one long inhale, and blurted it out as quickly as he could, afraid he'd stutter and break down if he took too long, “I was married a long time ago Joe.”  
  
Joe slowly turned back to Booker, his eyes said he was already registering what he was about to say, and his hand squeezed his knee tighter, “And I was driving the car and we got hit, and I was in a coma for a while - but Jeanne, and our baby died.”  
  
Joe exhaled a staggering breath, “Book- Sebastien I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. How terrible.”  
  
Booker felt a little dizzy, but he had made it through this. And the floor hadn’t opened up and swallowed him whole, “Thank you Joe.”  
  
Joe moved slowly, probably waiting for Booker to possibly say _no_ , but when his arms opened up Booker instantly scooted to the edge of the chair and leaned into them - and Joe squeezed him tightly, arms wrapped around his neck, “Thank you for telling me what was going on with you - and I wish you would have done it sooner, but only so I could have understood and been there for you.”   
  
Booker’s hands tugged at his sweater, holding a whole fistful of the thick fabric, but unable to reply just yet, because he genuinely felt stupid for having wasted so many years of his life thinking they wouldn’t be supportive. But a small part of him knew before he left this place, he would _also_ need to talk about Merrick. If there was any chance for a real, genuine, relationship - not only with Joe and Andy (and Quynh) - but most importantly Nile, he would need to do this.  
  
Joe gave him one final squeeze before pulling back, “As for the other stuff, I’m sure we’re probably going to have a few conversations about it as we go, but we can take it one day at time right?” Booker smiled because it reminded him of Nile. And then Joe really floored him, “But I’d really like to get to know sober Booker, because I love you man, and I forgive you.”

Booker felt both relieved and guilty.  
Would Joe be this forgiving after knowing about his work with Merrick?  
  
“Just - don’t leave again alright?” Booker nodded, moved by how vulnerable Joe was being, “like even if things are overwhelming, tell me you need space, but just like don’t stop talking to me please?” Joe had tears in his eyes and Booker promised he would, with complete sincerity, because there likely _would_ be days where he wouldn’t feel like talking, but at least assuring Joe it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t - even just one short text - could mean the world to him. He could do this for his friend.   
  
Booker glanced over at Andy who hadn’t said anything yet. Quynh was rubbing her arm like she was comforting her, and he realized she had tears streaming down her cheeks, and he was a little nervous that maybe she wasn’t going to be as forgiving as Joe (and he would need to learn to be okay with that). It was his responsibility to carry the consequences and weight of his own actions. He was not entitled to their forgiveness, which only made Joe’s that more precious.  
  
But then Andy surprised him by lifting her hand and pointing at Joe, “What he said.”  
  
Before he could process anything else, the doorbell rang and Quynh went to pay for the lunch she had ordered. While she was at the door, Andy walked over to Booker and Joe who were now standing up, and Joe moved just enough so she could hug Booker, too. He dipped his face into her shoulder because he didn’t deserve either of them, and he was still nervous about talking about Merrick . . . afraid of their reactions, afraid of their disappointment.   
  
Then again, he had expected the worst and it was turning out okay - _more than okay_ \- and so maybe the next part would go okay, too.  
  
Quynh shut the door, two huge bags of Vietnamese food hanging on each of her arms, and she genuinely looked like she shouldn't have been able to balance them as well as she did - but somehow she had managed and walked off towards what he presumed was the dining room, while Andy slowly released him. She kept a hand at the back of his neck, and smiled, a little weary if he was observing right. 

But things would probably be weird for a while, this was merely the first step of a long journey.   
He was grateful, worried, happy, cautious - and all those feelings at once felt both thrilling and scary. He was a spectrum of emotions and maybe that was why the lunch felt a little tense?  
  
They ate mostly in silence, well save for Quynh who kept teasing Joe for details about Nicky, and Booker wondered if she knew anything about Nile and him - because he wasn’t sure his nerves could handle all those questions directed at him right now. He felt emotionally spent, a little frayed if he was being honest with himself.  
 _  
__And you_ still _need to mention Merrick._  
  
He picked at his food, because frankly he hadn’t expected this, and every now and then he glanced at Andy, who had her bowl in her hand trying her best to eat as gracefully as she could with the chopsticks but still managing to drop a third of it back in the bowl. It felt almost communal, and friendly, and just amplified his guilt because he still needed to say more . . .  
  
So when it seemed like most were pretty much done, Booker pushed his bowl away, and kept his eyes down, “There’s one more thing - “  
  
Quynh and Joe stopped talking, and he could hear Andy putting her bowl on the table, “It’s - about my work.”  
  
Quynh chuckled, and Booker looked up in confusion, while she waved a hand at him, “Oh the forgeries? Yeah we already know, for like six weeks now.”  
  
He was glad he was sitting, but his head spun like it wouldn’t take much for him to tip over sideways, “Wh-what?”  
  
Joe rubbed the back of his neck, trying to smile, but it looked more like a grimace which did absolutely nothing to abate Booker’s nerves, “I was kinda hoping you’d bring it up - but yeah, we’ve known, we got your message that first day you met Nile.”  
  
He felt like that camera shot in a horror movie, where it pans in towards the person, but the background is skewed - _and this was a horror movie wasn’t it?_ His heart beat furiously, his head felt like it was in a vice, his eyes wide and terrified and in a way he’d be okay if a serial killer showed up and stabbed him . . . because if Nile had passed on the message . . . _then she knows, she’s known this whole time._ _  
_  
“Booker - hey Booker, it’s okay, we’ve been working on a plan,” Andy’s voice sounded so far away but she had actually moved closer to him.  
  
Booker blinked, unsteady and horrible questions started to swirl through his mind, “What - what plan?”  
  
“We met with Copley,” Joe began and Booker winced because _fuck_ \- they really did know everything didn’t they? “And we’re going to be at the masquerade, and we’re going to buy Lot 32.”  
  
If it hadn’t been for Andy’s hands on his forearm he might have just allowed himself to slink down into the chair, “You - but that piece - “  
  
Andy tapped at his arm, and Booker turned to her, “We know, you forged the documents, and a few more and we’re going to save this one - authenticate it, and return it to where it belongs.”  
  
That’s when Quynh leaned up on her elbows, face in the palm of her hands and beamed, “It’s our first mission as The Old Guard.”  
  
And Booker felt lightheaded, like he might actually pass out because - _what the fuck did that mean?_ And dear God, what if Merrick figured this out?   
  
Andy gripped his arm harder, and he couldn’t hear anymore - he just needed to catch his breath for a moment . . . was he having a panic attack? His chest felt tight, “Booker, we’re going to help get you out of this, but you’ll probably have to testify, and I’m sure it’s all going to work out in the end. We want to be here for you.”  
  
Booker’s eyes narrowed on the plate in front of him, trying to ground himself, trying to _will_ himself not to ask about the one person who wasn’t here, the person he’d been clinging to for the last six weeks . . . but he couldn't stop himself, so he whispered it instead, “So Nile came to you that very day?”  
  
“Well technically the next day, after talking to Nicky - then they came to my office,” Joe corrected and Booker closed his eyes, because _of course Nicky knew_ \- he had _wanted_ Nicky to know, and once Nile went to him they must have gone to Joe together. And now those two were together, and maybe if his heart didn’t feel like it was dislodging in his chest cavity, he could smile about that because _hey_ at least one nice thing came out of his illegal activities.  
  
“Booker - she felt really bad about not letting you know she knew, but you need to know I asked her to keep working on this, in case there’s more evidence to gather, because I didn’t know for sure what your intentions were.”  
  
And here it was - the final straw and now he knew it all didn’t he? Nile knew all this time, and - _and . . . Mon Dieu_ , was she only getting to know him because Andy told her to? Probably the thesis too, but she kept talking to him after the thesis right? She asked him on a date . . . _for after the masquerade_ . Was she just sticking around til this masquerade, and then was she just going to leave?   
  
_Hypocrite,_ he chided himself, how many times had he left, abandoned people . . . _can dish it out, but not take it huh, Booker? You’re a putz, and now you know_ .  
  
He wasn’t mad at Andy, she had every right to use whatever she could to figure out what was going on with Merrick - because it was only _because_ of Booker that he severed ties with the University in the first place.   
  
Sure it was also to ensure they couldn’t figure out what Merrick was doing with Copley, but it didn’t help when shortly after coming to work for Merrick, he was enlisted in the forgeries. And though Merrick paid him more for that forgery than he had made all year - Booker told him no more after that. It was too risky - the University could catch on. And Merrick said he’d cut their funding if he didn’t do another, and Booker told him to go ahead because he didn’t think he actually would - and then he did it anyways.  
  
When he tried to quit, Merrick told him he’d tell everyone he was a drunk and make sure he could never work in the academic world again (which how the fuck he figured that out Booker still wasn’t sure, but for all he knew he had Keane follow him around for a while or something). And for a little while, when he felt responsible for the University losing the contract, he drank even harder - until finally he realized if he was going to get out of this, he needed to get sober.   
  
And he would tell them _all of this_ eventually but he needed to leave - because he needed to talk to his sponsor, he needed a meeting, he needed to process. 

He needed to tell himself he wasn’t so horribly dumb for thinking a woman like Nile, would be interested in him. And maybe a small part of her had been? He couldn’t imagine her being outright cruel and leading him on _completely_ like this. She fucking held him while he cried over his family for God’s sake, she had to have cared _somewhat_. But still - Andy had told her to stick around, and it tainted every experience they had together, because he didn’t know how sincere she was for any of it. Maybe she was just a nice person, trying to do the right thing for the University, and help take down Merrick.   
  
God he felt so dizzy.  
  
“Booker please say something,” _Andy? It was Andy right?_ “I’m so sorry, but I promise we’ll set you up with the best lawyers, and we love you and we’re going to figure this out.”   
  
He couldn’t breathe, his body moved for him, his mind floated somewhere above him - and he pushed the chair back, “I - I need to go.”  
  
He didn’t look up, he could barely process one foot in front of the other but Joe - _yes_ , that was Joe grabbing his arm, stopped him if only for a moment, “Booker wait man - please.”  
  
He looked up at him, but his face must have said it all, because Joe actually winced at the sight of it, and his shoulders slumped, “Please don’t leave already, we were just starting to talk again, we have so much more to talk about, please?”  
  
“I - it’s not you guys, I just need some time to process,” he was being honest, because frankly the thought of Andy helping him spring for a lawyer might have been the most relieving news to hear about this whole mess - if his heart didn’t feel like it was in his stomach right now, being eaten by acid.   
  
Joe looked sullen, and somewhere in between a pounding headache, Booker was able to spring together a sentence, “I’ve missed you a lot. And I promise I’ll see you at the masquerade. I ju- I just need a few days.”  
  
Joe nodded, releasing his arm.

Andy and Quynh stood in the threshold of their dining room entryway and part of him wanted to flesh out the details now - like did he need to do anything else beforehand? Should he meet with a lawyer before the masquerade? He’d call Andy later, maybe in a day or two and figure that out, but right now, he needed to go and just drive and get lost on his motorcycle . . .  
  
Booker thanked Quynh for the food, told Andy he’d call her soon and when Joe gave him a hug he tried to lift his suddenly heavy feeling arms to return it as best as he could. But nothing else was said.  
  
This was all his fault, and still he left - _again_ .  
  
He swore to himself that he would reach out to them in no less than forty eight hours, even if he was in bed in tears, he’d send a message - _something._ He wouldn’t fall back on old patterns.

But right now he drove off without even knowing where he was going - though he figured he’d aim for the highway, if anything because he could drive it for a while without interruption. All he could think about was Nile though. 

Nile who just yesterday FaceTimed him and wished him a Merry Christmas. 

Nile, who’s Christmas gift was now on the back of his office computer, so every morning when he walked in he’d see the sticker quote and smile. 

Nile, who called him ‘Seb’. Nile who held him. 

Nile who liked books as much as he did. 

Nile - _who he loved._  
  
When he spotted the exit sign for the pumpkin patch they had visited just a month ago - _God that was just a month ago?_ \- it felt like a lifetime ago . . . he pulled off and headed for it. He didn’t even really know why.

But halfway down the trail he saw a large wooden gate blocking the road, and he read the sign as he got closer, “Closed for the season. See you in the spring!”.   
  
He should have just turned around, because if you’re going to have a nervous breakdown, wouldn’t a nice warm apartment feel better than a cold December day in the northeast? But he shut off his bike anyway, walked up to the gate and pushed against it. The iron chains clinked under the pressure but held together just fine, even when Booker pressed harder: _because he just wanted inside_. 

Wanted to go back to what he had before today, blissful ignorance of Nile at the pumpkin patch. Like when he snapped pictures of her holding those pumpkins and tried not to enjoy her smile beaming back at him so much. Or when she wrapped her arm around his waist and the worker snapped their picture. Or like how she tucked his hair behind his ear and then shuffled away because he probably looked like he wanted to lean in and kiss her. And God, he was never going to live down her being right about pumpkin spice lattes.  
  
He chuckled at the memory, a wet, guttural sound by now - and the cold air made his breath look foggy and it snapped him back to reality. There were no more pumpkins, and there was no Nile. Not in the way he had hoped. Not in the way he had prayed. Not in the way he had loved. And it was all his fault to begin with for dragging her into this.

He leaned his head forward, trying to fight the urge to fall to the ground and cry . . . maybe she’d fly back in tomorrow, and try to call him and tell him everything because _surely_ Andy would call her and tell her what happened. And she’d probably cry and apologize for leading him on and he knew he should allow her the opportunity to explain - and he would eventually, he swore to himself he would.   
  
But he couldn’t stand the thought of hearing her say this wasn’t real, of confirming that. Just a few days more, _just push it away for a few days_ -  
  
He opened his eyes, his skin hurting from the cold wood against his cheek, and pulled out his phone. He could barely see the screen through his tears, but he stared at their picture all the same - the one he had cropped and used as her contact info. He promised himself that he would reverse this, but he just needed space - and a meeting . . . 

His finger wavered over the button for a moment - one last look at her beautiful face looking up at his - and then he hit _block_.

* * *

  
_**NOTES** _

BOOKER YOU DUMB SAD FRENCH MAN she’s in love with you dammitttt!!  
. . . I promise it’ll be only a _smidge_ angsty in the next chapter, because we will be heading to the masquerade!!! And I also promise they _will_ talk at this masquerade! <3  
  
BUT YOU GUYS HOW CUTE ARE JOE x NICKY??   
Does it make more sense now that Nicky did not read any of Joe’s signs - between his lack of experience, his sexuality, and having lost two friends after falling for them??  
As someone who's demisexual myself, I tried to write from what I knew personally - but just like any sexual orientation, things can vary from person to person so please know this is just one vague snippet of reflection, projected on a character ;)  
  
But ANYWAYS things will get cuter, because next time Joe will tell Nicky he loves him *o*  
  
AND somebody will hit on Quynh and we will see her be that viper in the pit, and we can picture Andy in a slim cut pant suit looking like a QUEEN . . . it’s going to be epic!!  
  
As for Nile . . . she's going to fly home and be that gif of the guy holding the pizza, walking into an apartment on fire going like, _"WTF - I was gone for one week?!"_  
BUT NILE'S GOT THIS Y'ALL . . . and will continue to show us how it's done ;)  
  
See y'all next time!!


	8. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is in the air! Our couples take some time to reflect, and declare, and - um, enjoy one another.  
> And we finally get to the masquerade where the Old Guard bids on a certain stolen item that is very meaningful for Andy and Quynh <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we're all excited to get to the masquerade but I figured we should hear how Nicky is doing with dating - you know before the big ol love confession ;) 
> 
> AND see how Nile is physically the youngest, but most emotionally mature of the entire bunch. Booker doesn't deserve her, because NO ONE deserves this Queen *o* 
> 
> AND figure out the actual plan of you know - restealing a stolen artifact xD . . . And then I honestly almost split this into two parts because this is a monster of a chapter (15k+)!!! But y’all waited so patiently, and I appreciate it as I was dealing with some irl adulting haha ~
> 
> CW: the last portion of this chapter (at the end that begins with “Joe’s Apt”) is *probably* “Mature” but like 99% of the fic up till now (and after) is still Teen, so I didn’t think it warranted an overall upgrade in rating - but figured I’d mention it here in case you’d like to skip it! It’s non descriptive references to a consensual mutual sex act ~
> 
> Also CW: Merrick makes an appearance. He’s an asshole *faux gasp*

  
_“Journeys end in lovers meeting; I have spent an all but sleepless night,_

_I have told lies and made a fool of myself, and the very air tastes like wine.” - Shirley Jackson_

* * *

**Dec 26th - Nicky’s Apt**

Nicky had tried to finish the book he was reading when Joe left, but after scanning the same page for a third time he realized it was a fruitless endeavor. It felt oddly strange to be alone in his apartment again, now that everything had changed - and oh, how it had changed. Nicky knew he was gay, the few and far fantasies that he did have were always about men, but to actually experience it . . . he thought he’d be more reserved about it, if anything because it was so new, and yet with Joe it was almost easy. _No, not easy - freeing? Yes, freeing, and loving._  
  
Even now, though Joe had only been gone for half an hour, Nicky missed him and was flooded with the events of the last two days. Contemplating and reflecting on how much he had thought he was a homebody and an introvert, and he probably still was, but Joe’s constant presence never phased him - in fact, he _craved_ it. Craved his warmth, and laughs, and words that soothed something deep inside of him. And the kisses were a beautiful bonus.  
  
Closing his eyes, he smiled at the memory of Joe’s kiss as he headed out the door, Nicky’s fingertips gently gliding along his lips - missing the pressure of Joe against them. The way his beard tickled his skin, the way his strong hand felt cupping his jaw, the grip of firm fingers curving around the back of his neck . . . he flopped against the back of the sofa. Considering he didn’t think of people sexually till later on - he also hadn’t spent _this_ much time with a best friend, who turned into a (well, they hadn’t labeled this yet, but Nicky was certain ‘boyfriend’ was applicable). 

There _were_ some sort of flutterings happening . . . like a kindle stirring every now and then, the little fire ignited once Joe had declared his feelings. And Nicky opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling, unsure how he was ever going to go back to work if he couldn’t survive thirty minutes without thinking about him?  
  
The museum was closed through the new year, Joe didn’t really have much to do in prepwork for a class he’d been teaching for years - beside the new semester didn’t start for two more weeks. If anything, _this_ was the time for them to take to just _be_ \- to coexist in the same space, and soak each other up, and talk and laugh and kiss . . . and he just missed him.

 _Probably because you’re already deeply in love with him_ , his mind churned.

And Nicky sighed, because his heart knew it was true.   
  
Though then again, it wasn’t _just_ about missing him - he was terribly distracted because Nicky was also worried for him. He knew Joe was nervous about meeting Booker, and who knew exactly _when_ he’d be back, and _how_ it was going - _Ugh._  
  
Nicky figured it would be better to keep his hands busy, so his mind didn’t wander too much. Closing the book he placed it on the coffee table and headed towards the kitchen to start cleaning there - and maybe while he was at it, just clean the whole apartment? _Maybe take a shower, take out the trash?_ He listed all sorts of ideas as he passed the Christmas tree in the corner. Nicky usually left the decorations up until the 6th for All Kings Day, but now he had an added incentive - because the way the lights bathed pretty colors into the normally dark bedroom at night made Joe’s skin look ethereal and - _dammit Nico, get a grip_. 

After making a list inside his head, he got to work - but as the first hour bled into the second, and having done just about everything he could think of (and still no update from Joe), he figured he’d try to take a nap on the couch. If anything it’d help the time pass quicker.  
  
And though sleep was easier than nervously biting his bottom lip raw, it unfortunately was not entirely restful.   
  
When Joe finally _did_ walk through the door, Nicky stirred stretching a little, but otherwise eager to greet him. Sitting up with his back against the arm rest, his eyes adjusted to the blurry vision as best as they could before he reached for his glasses behind him to put them on for a better view. But Joe was already crossing the small living room in just a few strides, and it made Nicky pause midreach as he felt the couch dip from him sitting on the edge.  
  
Not even a moment later Joe sank down onto him, his whole upper body twisting to lay on Nicky’s. His head on his shoulder, cheek pressed just under his neck.  
  
Nicky wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other gently running through his pretty curls, “That good, or that bad?”  
  
Joe mumbled into the hoodie, “I’m not sure.”

Nicky was curious of course, but something in Joe’s tone implied exhaustion. He loved to talk to though, and he knew Joe would tell him soon enough. He was glad he felt comfortable enough to do so, but also did not want to assume either way - so Nicky offered him an out instead, “Do you want to talk about it, or be distracted from it?”

Joe stilled for a moment, then lifted his chin onto his chest lightly, a spark already in his eyes, “What _kind_ of distraction?”  
  
Nicky did not mean _that_ , but smirked anyways, glad to see Joe wasn’t too phased to have lost his sense of humor entirely, “Well we do have to leave for our fitting in the next 20 minutes.”

Joe lifted himself up onto his hands, still cradled on either side of Nick’s waist, “Crap! I _completely_ forgot to go pick up some clothes from my place.”   
  
Nicky couldn’t help but tease, “Now why did you do that?”

Joe’s eyes softened a little, his worried expression evaporating, and replaced with a sly grin, “Because I just wanted to get home to you.” He didn’t wait for Nicky to respond, just laid his head back down on his chest. And Nicky wondered if he could hear how fast his heart was beating - or feel the flush of his skin at his words.   
  
After a moment of getting his bearings, Nicky smiled up at the ceiling, done teasing, “Well good thing I did your laundry while you were gone then huh?”  
  
Joe stiffened for a moment, then hurriedly climbed up so his face hovered over Nicky’s, elbows on either side of his head on the arm rest, “ _Nicolo_ \- did you really?”  
  
He shrugged, like it wasn’t that big of a deal, “To be fair, I was already doing mine, so it wasn’t _too_ hard to add like six more articles of clothing to the load.”  
  
But Joe beamed, and began to pepper kisses all over his face, until Nicky laughed - glad laundry could make him this happy. 

  
_Later though . ._ .  
  
They had gone to their fitting, and Joe gave Nicky a _very_ long look when he first stepped out with the form fitting suit, commenting about how his clothes didn't do him justice, because he hadn’t realized how broad his shoulders were like he _liked_ that and Nicky’s jaw clenched a little under that stare. He didn’t mind it, but it felt a little intimate with the seamstress _right_ there (though if she did care, she didn’t let on). Nicky preferred wearing equally baggy clothing to bed, and had been changing in the bathroom in the evenings - but save for snuggles in bed, they hadn’t explored further, and for a brief moment Nicky wondered if he should change in front of Joe that evening. Just to see how it felt . . .   
  
When Joe emerged radiant as ever in his suit, both Nicky _and_ the seamstress stared - because, well Joe looked _very_ handsome with his long waist, and tall legs, accentuated in a navy colored suit that made his skin shine. Joe would usually settle under the covers with Nicky’s pj’s at night before he even emerged from the bathroom, but having seen him in the tux - and remembering a very aesthetically pleasing (and naked) chest from just that morning, did make him wonder about what he looked like without clothes. Maybe he could ask Joe to change in front him, too.  
  
Purely from a curiosity standpoint, Nicky reasoned to himself.  
  
After they paid for the tuxes, they headed to Joe’s apartment to pick up some things, and though Nicky had been there several times already, it felt different now that they were together. He was still smiling to himself at the thought, near Joe’s kitchen island, when Joe came around the corner with a _full_ suitcase:  
  
“I thought you were only staying through the masquerade?” Not that Nicky would have minded if he wanted to stay a little longer, but he was scheduled to go back to work on the second, when the museum reopened. And Joe said he’d love to get back to his studio while Nicky was at work - teasing he had a whole new set of sketch ideas to draw.  
  
“Right - these are for the art supplies,” like that somehow settled Nicky’s curiosity.

_But tonight . . ._  
  
When Nicky chickened out and changed in the bathroom like he had been doing, he came out and saw Joe settled in his bed, which still made his heart clench. There was something so comforting about being able to climb into the small bed (well small compared to Joe’s, which he was pretty sure had to be King sized), and scoot over to his warmth for evening prayers. But unlike the usual goodnight wishes and kisses, Joe quietly asked if it was okay to tell him about earlier, or if Nicky preferred to sleep.  
  
Nicky assured him he was more than welcome to share with him whatever he was comfortable with. So Joe did - recapping about how he surprised himself with how much happiness he felt at seeing Booker, how much he had missed him. And about what Booker had shared about the loss of his family (which made Nicky tear up a little though he was trying to focus on Joe’s needs at the moment). Booker had been so honest, and Joe wanted to forgive him and work on the rest.   
  
But then it all went to Hell after he heard about Nile working with him on Andy’s request.  
Nicky could feel Joe clinging to him a little harder, and though surely there was nothing he could really do about the events of earlier, Nicky held him tighter, too, and maybe that helped settle Joe’s nerves a little.  
  
Because Joe continued, explaining that after Booker had left, the three of them had talked a bit more, and Andy and Quynh had shared about how Nile and Booker had feelings for one another. And Joe grinned for the first time in ten minutes, when Nicky’s eyes widened - _because whoa_.

Joe actually thought they could make a good pair - but he felt bad about the kind of mess Nile was flying home to the next day. And he was worried about how Booker seemed when he left, and had been debating about texting him all afternoon - but Booker had said that he was going to be at the masquerade, too, so he didn’t want to press.   
  
As for Nile, Andy said she would pick her up - tell her about the meeting, explain everything, and grovel if she had to. She would find a way to fix this. But still, he worried . . .  
  
Nicky held him through it all, but when Joe finally paused Nicky lifted his eyes towards him, “What part are you most worried about?”  
  
Joe looked a little pained, “All of it.”  
  
Nicky didn’t know Booker as anything more than a casual work acquaintance, certainly not like the others did, so he wasn’t exactly sure how to help assure Joe, “Do you think Booker was sincere when he talked about wanting to work on a friendship with you?”  
  
“Yes, yeah - I think so.”  
  
Nicky shrugged, hoping his own casual response could help counter Joe’s emotional state, “Then it sounds like he was probably mostly upset about Nile, then anything you did or said - and maybe things will already be better at the masquerade? Especially if Nile is flying in tomorrow. You could text him the day after? See how that goes?”  
  
Joe nodded, a little overwhelmed if Nicky was reading it right. Then Joe shifted down to rest his head on Nicky’s chest - saying his heartbeat sounded comforting . . .   
  
And Nicky felt little flutterings in his stomach wondering how he got so lucky.   
  
(Luckily, when Joe did text him on the 28th, just a short check in sort of a message, Booker _did_ respond and told him it had been good to see him, too, and that they could _maybe chat at the masquerade?_ And Joe smiled for almost an hour afterwards).

* * *

**Dec 27th - the Airport**

When Andy had called this morning, asking if she had heard from Booker, Nile knew something was wrong. She explained she hadn’t heard from him since Christmas when they had facetimed and she really did not like the way Andy was mumbling through the call. Luckily Quynh took the phone and asked if they could pick her up from the airport and talk . . . because Booker had reached out to _them_ .   
  
At first Nile was excited, happy even - but then Quynh explained it had gone well at first, but he had left pretty shaken after discussing Merrick, and learning about how much they knew. Nile almost asked if they could facetime, because she didn’t know if she could really wait a few hours for a full update, but this kind of thing probably would be better discussed in person - for all she knew, her brother was listening outside the door, and she really could not have her mother realizing what she had been up to lately. Begrudgingly she agreed to the pick up, and now, three hours later she walked out into the cold air and spotted them at the pick up lane waving her over.  
  
Nile wished she could have looked happier to see them, but she had kept checking her phone to see if she had gotten any messages from Booker - so far though _nothing_ . If it had really gone okay, even if only in the beginning, she would have been certain he would have been happy to tell her about it. And she _almost_ called him (before talking herself out of it several times). She wanted to know what had happened - but she needed all the facts first.

But no matter how scrambled her thoughts were, she wouldn’t deny Quynh a warm hug when she got closer, arms outstretched. And when her mouth was close to her, she could hear Quynh’s smile in her voice, saying she was glad she arrived safely and _sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances_ . With a weak smile that paled in comparison to hers, Nile rubbed her back a little before pulling away, “Well now that I’m here, let’s talk?”  
  
Quynh nodded, but Andy gave her a sullen look from the driver’s side, before climbing behind the wheel which did not help steady her nerves at all. Nile piled her bag and herself into the backseat, and the car pulled out into the heavy traffic lane. It was eerily quiet until they reached the highway.  
  
“So - can you please tell me what happened yesterday?”  
  
Andy kept her eyes on the road, but it didn’t escape Nile’s peripheral vision when she gripped the steering wheel a little harder. Quynh turned sideways into the seat, looking a little more deflated than just minutes before. Then she recapped everything - how honest he had been about his sobriety, how well things had gone with Joe ( _BatJoe? What??_ ), and now Joe and Nicky were _definitely_ together, and they all had lunch - _and if it was going so well,_ what _happened?_

But then the discussion had turned to Merrick, and in a way Nile felt relieved that he had brought up on his own - to her, it showed that he really was ready to move forward . . . though from what Quynh was sharing, he was experiencing a mild panic attack when he realized they already knew. And his nerves did not abate, even when they explained they’d like to hire him a lawyer to help make some sort of deal (which was very generous of them) - so why was Andy staying so oddly quiet?  
  
When Quynh _finally_ got to the point, and explained how they knew because of Nile’s involvement, and how Andy had asked her to _stay_ involved . . . Nile’s head snapped to the rearview mirror, “Andy you _didn’t_ \- “  
  
Andy’s shoulders looked a little more tense, but her voice sounded flat, and guilty, “I’m sorry Nile, I didn’t realize how it came across until after.”  
  
Nile reached for her phone, unsure if she should call him for a potentially private call in front of Andy and Quynh, but if he _did_ answer, she was just planning on asking him to meet her so they could talk in person anyways. She didn’t even hesitate, the sooner they could clear this up, the better. But after hitting the button she was surprised to hear a dial tone. She thought maybe the reception was bad on the highway, and hit redial, but again another dial tone. _Weird_ .  
  
Andy was pulling onto the exit ramp, when Nile decided to text - which of course, she’d _prefer_ to talk in person, but she could ask to meet him over text, too:  
  
 _Hi Sebastien,_ _  
__  
__I just arrived back, and I know about the meeting and I would love to meet you as soon as possible to talk. I’m available all day. Please, I’d really like to clear things up._  
  
She hit send, but immediately got the “non deliverable” notification and between _that_ and the dial tone, she realized he had blocked her . . . _What.the.fudgesicle_ .  
  
Almost immediately her ego responded, like an inner wounded child, wanting to be angry and yell and have a tantrum, but she forced herself to breathe through it. Quynh must have heard the hard breaths because when Nile opened her eyes, she was looking back at her, “Is he not open to meeting you today?”  
  
Nile sighed, and looked at the phone for a moment, “He blocked me.”  
  
Andy almost slammed on the brakes, “What?!”

Nile felt her turning the car into a side street and parking but her anger was already ebbing, and the feelings underneath that were _causing_ the anger were being revealed one wave at a time - pain and hurt, and sadness. Quynh reached her hand back and placed it on Nile’s knee, and though Nile appreciated it, _wanted_ to acknowledge it, she clutched to the phone instead, “He thinks I used him, and honestly - if the tables were turned . . . “  
  
She explored that scenario in her mind for a moment: if the roles had been reversed, if he had shown up in Joe’s office one day - if they had worked together for six weeks, slowly falling in love . . . _because dammit, she was in love with this man_ . If they created memories, if he held her while she cried - and then if one day, Joe told her that he was only around because he told him to be . . . _well_ , she probably would have told him off first - but then she likely would have blocked him, too.  
  
But they hadn’t used each other, this was real, and _dammit_ \- why did he have to be so reactionary, instead of allowing her to explain?   
  
Though to be honest, her second concern was a relapse. But she closed her eyes and willed herself to remember that even if Booker _was_ drinking right now, that wouldn’t be her fault, and he had to make the decision to stay sober for himself. And yet, this was all one big miscommunication. And the thought of him possibly reacting to all of this on _false information_ felt horrible.  
  
 _No_ , she had to trust that as horrible as that thought was - that he’d done enough inner work, had enough tools, and felt enough support not to relapse over this. His sobriety could not be this fragile. She _prayed_ it wasn’t _this_ fragile. Booker went to them in the first place, all on his own, he made all these steps. She had to trust that that was a good sign -  
  
And - _no_ , she would not chase this man like some crazy woman. She didn’t even know where he lived, and she was not going to show up at his work and be all emotional (besides the museum was closed right now anyways). She’d write him a letter before she’d do that. 

He told them he needed space and would be at the masquerade, and she had to respect that, and trust it. Besides, he was going to call Andy sometime tomorrow to arrange things with her and a lawyer, and if anything she'd read between his lines if something was _too_ far off with Booker. 

So Nile breathed once more, and finally reached for Quynh’s hand, “He said he needed space, and I guess I’ll have to pour my heart out to the man at the masquerade.”  
  
Andy smirked, because, “ _Damn_ , you have more patience for bullshit than the rest of us combined Nile.”  
  
Nile rolled her shoulders, “Oh don’t think he’s getting off easy for blocking me - he’s going to get an earful about adulting and how if he wants to be in a relationship with me, he’s got to be more mature than that. It’s all about balance in these kinds of discussions you see.”  
  
Quynh’s eyes went wide, and then she grinned mischievously, “That a girl.”  
  
Nile winked and then they all chuckled, Andy far more at ease now that Nile had a plan. She did ask her if she wanted her to say anything to Booker when he called, but Nile shook her head - and told her to only say she’d love to talk to him, but only if he brought it up on his own. _Nothing more please_ . Andy nodded, and then pulled the car back on the road, “I really am sorry Nile, I’d love to make it up to you - dinner at our place?”  
  
“Well if you _really_ want to make it up to me - can you play my fairy godmother and find the best dress for this ball thing so I can make Booker’s eyes fall out of his head?”  
  
Quynh laughed, then reached for Andy’s arm, “I know just the one - the goldie I wore to that editor’s banquet for the publishing house?” 

Andy whistled, “Oh boy, Booker will lose his mind. Let’s do it.”  
  
Nile felt confident this could work - she would just need a few minutes to explain when she saw him. She’d tell him how much she really cared. It would be okay.  
  
 _Right?_

Unfortunately that night, away from the others and alone in her apartment - even though she _knew_ she had a firm plan in place. Even though she understood _why_ he had reacted that way. 

It didn't change her own pain, and she didn't want to deny her own feelings either. Lest it swell and get the better of her at the masquerade.   
  
In the quiet of her own apartment, stuck with her thoughts, and guilt, about not having come clean with Booker that night when they slept together on the couch - Nile sighed, and grabbed her comforter from the bed. She wrapped herself in it (a poor substitute for the Frenchman), and settled onto the couch as comfortably as she could.   
  
And then she cried.

* * *

**Dec 29th - Andy and Quynh’s townhouse**

The big meeting with the lawyers attached to the University was yesterday and Andy still felt a little miffed that they didn’t seem _nearly_ as excited about the endeavor as their little group had been. They felt like it was biting off more than they could chew, and Quynh wondered afterwards if they would have said the same things to Joe and Nicky if they had been in the room instead. _Possibly_ , Andy had countered, _but at least they didn’t tell us not to_ \- not like they would have listened even if they had.   
  
Instead after being presented with all the evidence and assurances that both Booker and Copley were willing to testify, _and_ that Copley would even help them secure a stolen art piece himself, they begrudgingly admitted that they didn’t _seem_ to be doing anything illegal. With the Foundation essentially “handing over” the stolen piece, Andy and Quynh’s “purchase” would be merely a transfer of a “ _suspected_ stolen item” - though they did advise a forensic accountant to get involved to handle the money aspect. 

Then as soon as the item had been authenticated, the lawyers would then set up an appointment with the Department of Homeland Security (since they would basically be in possession of a smuggled through customs item). And even though Andy and Quynh had asked about Booker potentially making a deal in exchange for testimony, the lawyers vaguely responded that they would have to meet him first - and nothing was guaranteed. But at least they were willing to take him on, though not on the expense of the University (like Andy and Quynh), so Andy would be paying for it on her dime - and she was okay with that. Not because she owed Booker, but because she wanted to. 

Then she called him afterwards - hoping any of it would help put his mind at ease.  
  
The man sounded absolutely miserable, his voice monotone, but he didn’t ask about Nile, and so Andy didn’t bring her up either. They went over what the lawyers said, the general plan, and what to expect at the masquerade - then Booker explained about the item and how it was set to gather a significant sum, close to a hundred thousand dollars. And he even asked Andy if she’d like to use his money to purchase it.  
  
Andy had raised an eyebrow and asked how well the forgery business paid if he could make such an offer, and it was the first time she heard Booker chuckle since their meeting - though it passed far too quickly. He merely replied that at least some good could come out of the blood money before the government seized 90% of his income. But Andy declined, suggesting he be as much removed from the remaining process as possible, for his own sake. She gave him the lawyer’s contact information and said she hoped to see him at the masquerade - and he ended the call with, “See you there boss,” before hanging up. 

Andy blinked away the tear that threatened to escape, before Quynh took the phone from her. 

Quynh suggested she could call the forensic accountant the lawyers had suggested, implying that Andy should talk a moment and make herself a tea or something. But still, as much as she appreciated Quynh taking the reins, she wouldn’t be able to relax till they had as much of a plan in place as possible, so while she was working out the details, Andy pulled out her phone and texted Joe, Nicky, and Nile for a time that worked for them to come over the next day.

Now, as the five of them sat around the living room (with Joe making sure to arrange a full plate of snacks for Nicky because the man really did like his snacks it seemed), Quynh explained the uneasy dynamics of buying a stolen artifact . . . almost casually, and chipper. As if this wasn’t the weirdest damn thing in the world for them to be involved in.  
  
For one brief fleeting moment Andy had considered the fact that they were in essence stealing this item, too. But then again stealing implied ownership, and this wasn’t really that. Her wife said it best, when she called it a _reclaiming_ instead, “ . . . Basically the forensic accountant has set up an account for us to use with the Foundation. It’s the most efficient way to trace the purchase, and Copley will freeze the wire on his end, so no one else can have access to it. Once they process the item, he’ll unfreeze it, and we should have the funds right back.”  
  
“ _Should_ ?” Nile raised an eyebrow, but Andy couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked. She hadn’t asked how the conversation with Booker had gone yet either, “Um, why wouldn’t it?”  
  
Andy straightened a little in her seat, “It’ll be a large sum, and it could take up to a week to process, both on Copley’s end, and for the accountant - by then we might already have the item authenticated and DHS could freeze all of Copley’s assets for evidence. So it could be tied up for a while.”

Joe’s brow furrowed, “How much is a large sum boss?”  
  
Andy leaned her forehead against her folded hand, anticipating the groans, “Booker thinks close to a hundred thousand.”  
  
Joe cussed in Arabic, Nicky in Italian and Nile looked even sadder hearing Booker’s name spoken out loud. But Quynh chimed in, quick to assure everyone, “I know that we had all agreed about contributing, because we all wanted to do this equally - but Andy and I talked last night and I want to say that I think we should focus on what’s fair, versus equal.”  
  
None of them followed, but Andy smiled, pride swelling in her heart as Quynh explained, “Equal would be to ask each of you to contribute the same sum, irregardless of considering any other aspect. But what’s fair is to take a look at each and every one of us and acknowledge that some of us have more financial options than the rest, and so - I want to offer to buy this item on my own.”

Finally Nile looked like some life returned to her face and she raised her head, “Are you the richest among us, because of all the books you’ve sold that you refuse to admit you authored?”

Quynh beamed, then winked, still refusing to _actually_ answer but it didn’t take a genius to read between the lines.  
  
Nicky had no idea what was referring to so he just finished the plate, but Joe practically whooped in his seat, “So Quynh, are the characters’ dynamics an accurate portrayal between you and Andy?”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes, but smirked anyways, “Guess you all now know who wears the pants in this relationship.”  
  
But Quynh never one to be topped - _ha_ \- scrunched her nose, leaning closer to Andy, “I prefer my dresses, gives you easier access.”  
  
Nile laughed so hard she cried, Joe made a face like he just learned _way_ too much, and Nicky choked a little on the biscuit he was still chewing on.  
  
Andy merely kissed Quynh’s hand and scolded her with no real malice in her voice, reminding her that she needed to be more mindful of what she says in front of family.  
  
Quynh just waved her hand dismissively, while Nile swiped at the tear pooled under her left eye.  
  
After the moment had passed, Nicky cleared his throat, then quietly (but no less endearingly) asked if it was still okay to contribute financially - even if it was a modest sum in comparison. When Quynh asked why, Nicky shrugged, saying he wanted to _because it’s important_ . Like that was that. Joe couldn’t help but kiss his cheek in front of everybody, saying how kind he was, and Nicky tucked his chin to his chest trying not to look like he enjoyed it.  
  


* * *

**Dec 31st - Copley Foundation New Year’s Eve Party - 9pm**

Andy, Quynh and Nile had paid for a car to drive them to the hotel that the foundation was using for the masquerade. They had briefly considered arriving separately, but Copley said the guest list ran into the two hundreds, and each guest would receive an ID number to bid with, and a small mask provided at the check in table. So it was unlikely that anyone would really notice them, much less recognize them in any way. After all, they didn’t run in the same circles with these people.  
  
But if Copley thought they’d blend into the background, then he was a fool, because they would not dress down to go unnoticed. They wanted to look like they belonged there, because frankly _that_ would draw less attention.  
  
They had spent the evening prepping their hair and make up, and though Andy didn’t mind getting dressed up per se, she was far more excited for Quynh and Nile. Her wife looked amazing (as always) and insisted on matching outfits of white and black, while Nile, bless her, kept saying how grateful she was for Quynh loaning her the [dress](https://imgur.com/Lscex19) \- _and_ for Andy paying for her hair and makeup to be done at their place. It had been a little while since she looked genuinely happy for more than five minutes, and if Andy had been worried about her nerves getting the better of Nile last minute, she was proven wrong as soon as they checked in.   
  
The clerk showed them all sorts of options from the rainbow colored spectrum, mostly made from lace, though some were solid, and after picking theirs out (and Quynh accepting the ID number for bidding) - Nile asked if they minded if she looked for Booker. It wasn’t like Nile wasn’t interested in seeing the piece up close - and in fact, they would all take turns walking by Lot 32 so they could ensure Quynh was the highest bidder until eleven when the auction portion closed - but Andy understood. 

She had waited long enough, they both had.

After wishing her good luck, Nile beamed and scurried off. 

Andy smirked because Booker’s jaw would definitely drop at the sight of her.  
  
Quynh meanwhile had spotted Joe and Nicky who had just arrived, and waved them over, trying to be subtle (though that was never Quynh’s strong suit). Since they agreed that it was only Nicky who could potentially be recognized by Merrick as someone who worked for him (though even Copley wasn’t sure if he was coming, he was pretty fickle like that), the younger man hurriedly put on his mask before walking into the ballroom - as if Merrick was around the corner. With his slicked back hair, tied in a low bun, and contacts (though he swore he could not wear them again because they were itchy), he did look different enough - well hopefully.  
  
Really if anything was going to get them noticed, it was the way Joe couldn’t stop staring at the man like he hung up the stars at night. Though Andy couldn’t blame him - it was pretty obvious he was in love, and it simply wasn’t in his nature not to wear his feelings on his sleeve. Besides, even Andy had a hard time not looking at her wife the same way.  
  
“You two look amazing,” Quynh beamed and sure enough Nicky looked away - he was going to have to learn how to take a compliment. Joe beamed, reaching for Nicky’s hand, and even though he looked shy about it he certainly didn’t pull away from it either.   
  
“I might look amazing, but Nico here is downright stunning, he looks like one of those Greecian statues over there,” Joe waved his hand, and Nicky bless him, actually followed to see which one he was pointing out before practically snorting a huff, “ _Right_ .”  
  
Andy put her hands in her pockets, “You two better behave, because I need you two focused and not running off to a dark hallway or something.”  
  
Joe chuckled, but Nicky looked like he wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not, so she made the effort to wink at him which seemed to help put him at ease, well as much as Nicky seemed capable of in a crowded room, “We just need to make our way to the piece - plug in Quynh’s ID number - and make sure we check it throughout the night. Pretty sure those security guards might frown on us hovering, even behind the velvet ropes.”

Joe and Nicky agreed on checking at the half hour mark until the auction closed, then Joe pulled Nicky to the buffet tables in case he needed a small plate of pastries. Once out of ear shot Quynh rolled her eyes, sarcastically suggesting to Andy that the Italian might want to get a physical or something before he dramatically ends up fainting in Joe’s arms one day from low blood sugar.  
  
“Who are you kidding, Joe would love that,” Andy chuckled before reaching for Quynh’s hand, smiling, “Ready to finally see this piece?”  
  
Quynh nodded, letting Andy lead them further into the crowd. The ballroom was huge, on the top floor of the old building, ceilings so high it made her dizzy to look up. Gold and mirrors everywhere reflecting the glint of the heavy chandeliers above them. But even with hundreds of people, it didn’t feel crowded, and they easily made their way along the walls where each lot item was staged for optimum display behind velvet ropes, nestled on tall columns, and under soft lights. Each piece beckoned for attention, but kept safe by a security guard assigned to each one, ready to direct any interested parties to the tablet in front of it. Copley explained about plugging in the ID number, so no names would be displayed, and you would only see the top two bidders with the bidding price. You could bid as often as you wanted to, and once the auction closed at eleven, the Foundation would confirm the sale, and a preassigned storage location was arranged for pick up of the item the following day.  
  
It sounded pretty straight forward, if it wasn’t for the fact that Andy had to wonder how many of these items didn’t belong to him. Or to Merrick. Who knew if they ran these schemes with other people around the world. Booker might just be one of _many_ . When she had shared that concern with Quynh the day before, her wife beamed saying she’d love an Old Guard sequel with more opportunities to dress to the nines.  
  
But Andy was serious. It wasn’t even just the opportunity to refund the University’s budget (though that certainly helped), but ensuring that they were prepared for the next one . . . because frankly, just because Copley’s Foundation was likely closing up shop, didn’t mean there wasn’t another one ready to take its place. 

“Andy - “ Quynh’s voice softened, and she leaned closer to her, wrapping a thin arm around hers, “Oh it’s beautiful.”  
  
There it was, Lot 32. A small statue, no taller than a foot, a little chipped around the edges - but recently restored. It was a statue of Sappho (well suspected to be), and had been “authenticated” as an item retrieved from a private donor. In actuality, as best as Booker could trace, it actually was stolen from a recently excavated dig site in none other than Pompeii. Slipped through the black market, before being bought by Merrick, and now here, in front of them thanks to Booker’s forgeries and Copley’s “receipts”.  
  
The significance of Sappho did not escape either of them, in fact, Quynh had a quote of hers tattooed on her right ribcage, just below her heart: _‘Slender Aphrodite has overcome me - with longing for a girl.’_ ’ And it brought back the memory of when she first showed it to Andy, all those years ago . . . when she told her how scared she was for loving a woman, but she fell in love with her anyways, over the Greek poetry they read together in the library, before hiding in her office. Sweet tender kisses at first, but when she had pulled her dress down, she saw the words etched on her skin in small cursive lines - and traced it carefully with her finger because the skin still looked a little inflamed from the recent assault of the needle. And when Quynh told her she knew it then, when Andy had read her Sappho, that she could never accept a kiss from anyone else - she thought she could have died right then and there.  
  
Sappho meant so much to them, and a portrait of hers hung in their bedroom, and even now on their anniversary they read lines from her to one another. When Quynh talked about religion, and worried that maybe others would judge her from her faith, Andy explained she did not believe in God - couldn’t. And when Quynh raised an eyebrow and asked her if she did not believe in anything? Andy whispered Sappho to her the first time they made love: _‘In the crooks of your body, I find my religion.’_ _  
__  
_They couldn’t keep it, they knew that, but it felt downright honorable to take this statue and restore it to where it belonged. To take care of it, and return it personally, and if Quynh and Andy could enjoy a second honeymoon near Pompeii or Lesbos, then hey, that was just a bonus.  
  
Andy rested her head on Quynh’s for just a moment, whispering words of affection and love, before quietly suggesting she place her bid . . . while she went to go get them drinks to steady her nerves. She was itching to get Quynh home from here and reexamine that tattoo up close again.

  
And _goodness_ , she had only left Quynh alone for ten minutes, two drinks in either of her hands, but when she came back she spotted a short man hovering by her . . . and with the way Quynh was fighting to roll her eyes at him, meant he was not getting her hints.   
  
Coming up beside her, she handed Quynh her drink and leaned in to wrap an arm around her waist - but when she actually glanced at the man she realized it was none other than _Merrick_ . She knew there was a possibility he’d be here, and really her presence should not raise suspicion, after all they were no longer working together, “Good evening Mr. Merrick, it has been a while.”  
  
“Wait - you’re, don’t tell me, it’ll come to me.” 

Andy’s eyes narrowed, Merrick knew _damn_ well who she was. They had to meet at least twice a year for almost five of them (when he first took over the museum from his family) until he cut the funding. They didn’t converse much, but enough that him pretending he had forgotten who she was two and a half years later felt like he was purposely trying to add insult to injury.  
  
“Mrs. Andy Scythia,” Quynh deadpanned.  
  
“Mrs?” As if the man hadn’t realized that Andy wasn’t just clinging to Quynh because she liked the way it felt (though that, too).  
  
Quynh nodded, “As I was saying, I’m happily married - but thank you for the offer.”  
  
Andy felt like she could squirm, “What _offer_ ?”  
  
Merrick didn’t blink, though she couldn’t tell if that was because he was afraid, or just too dumb, to register Andy’s annoyance.

Quynh leaned her head back against Andy’s shoulder, “I let him know I swing for the other team, but he felt one night could convince me otherwise.”  
  
Andy shot Merrick a glare - because she knew her wife enough to know - that based on what Quynh had said, Merrick _must_ have come on far too strong if she had to explain she was married (and to a woman, and _no, I still don’t want to come with you_ ), “And I already explained that one night with him would only affirm my orientation.”  
  
Merrick huffed, maybe because he genuinely thought up till now she was playing hard to get or something? But now he looked like he was hoping to get the final word in, “I guess I’m just surprised _Andy_ \- “ The way she said her name, like he was talking _down_ to her (though she had to be several inches taller than him, especially in the heels she was wearing) made her want to recoil, “ - didn’t think you’d rob the cradle.”  
  
Quynh raised her head from Andy’s shoulder, and though Andy was _perfectly_ content defending her own self - Quynh was a viper in a verbal fight. She used the talent rarely, choosing kindness every day instead, but on the rare occasions it was necessary she cut you down so fast, it made your head spin, “I’m sure you have been told it’s rude to ask a lady’s age, and it’s certainly none of your business but for your information, I’m only a few years younger than my wife. I’m likely _far_ older than you - “  
  
Merrick looked between her and Quynh twice, before finally settling on Andy, “How old are you?”

Hadn’t Quynh _just_ said it was rude to ask? It’s like the guy couldn’t help himself - or he just could care less to listen to anything Quynh said?   
  
So Andy shot him a steady look - confident, but an undercurrent that implied he shouldn’t press, “Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”

His eyes widened a little in shock, and he retreated a bit. But not before Quynh got in one last shot, “Being older, let me give you some sage advice - I personally don’t care for dick, but I definitely don’t care for _baby_ dick.”  
  
Merrick looked _mortified_ , and turned and walked away.

When he dipped away into the crowds, shoulders practically at his ears, Andy couldn’t help but laugh a little as Quynh took the glass of champagne for her, “ _God_ Andy, you had to work with that man for five years?”  
  
Andy shrugged, but equally disgusted. Quynh took the glass she was planning on drinking herself, and quickly drank it as well ( _okay_ ), “If I had been you I would have cut the funding myself just to get away from him.”  
  
Andy wished she had a stiff drink in her hands right now, “ . . . Misery loves company.”

And Quynh _knew_ Andy was referring to the time she was gone, when she just floated from one job to the other - between the University and the museum, trying to keep too busy to cry, before going home and looking at the faded Christmas wreath on her door day after day . . .  
  
Quynh stepped into her line of sight, tenderly wrapping her arm around her shoulder, and leaned against her - two empty champagne glasses clinking in her other hand, “I’m here, I’m right here.”

Andy’s hand roamed onto Quynh’s waist, gliding up towards the bare skin of her shoulder blades, and saw her cheeks redden a little - though maybe that was just the two glasses of back to back champagne.  
  
They had been standing off to the side, and though she had told Joe and Nicky not to sneak off (and who the heck knew where Nile or Booker were), Andy also knew it was Joe’s turn to check on the item in the next twenty minutes . . . which meant twenty minutes of alone time with Quynh who giggled when she felt Andy tugging her along towards the dark hallway.  
  
Quynh had somehow managed to leave behind the empty glasses with a waiter, _and_ snatch a third one, which she happily handed to Andy as they descended a small side stairwell.  
  
“We paid too much for these outfits, _and_ for the makeup wifey - do not smear it.”  
  
But Andy smirked as she pressed Quynh against the wall once the door closed, “I guess I’ll just have to do things without my mouth then.”  
  
Quynh pouted a little, “But that’s my favorite part of yours.”  
  


* * *

Booker knew that he had to play along for a little longer, make an appearance at this thing - make sure Merrick _saw_ him make an appearance at this thing, and check in with Copley in case there were any last minute adjustments to be had. With those things taken care of, he debated about saying _hi_ to the others, but once he realized Merrick was sticking around this time he decided against it. He didn’t want Merrick to put it together that he was talking to them again - not when he was this close to getting out.  
  
He did see Joe and Nicky together for a moment, by the food, and he almost caved because he could really use one of Joe’s hugs right about now - instead he reached for his phone, and shot Joe a quick message explaining Merrick was sticking around, so he wouldn’t be able to chat much with him after all. But he’d love to call him the next day if that was okay? Joe replied almost immediately that he’d love to, and wished him luck with the rest of the night - though Booker didn’t quite follow his meaning with that one.  
  
So now he was sulking in the conservatory attached to the ballroom, shoving the stupid mask in his pocket. It was a massive space, with mirrored floors that were heated, though it was still chillier than the ballroom because of the large window panels that showed off fantastic views of the city lights. Most of the plants had been removed for the season, but a few tropical ones were flanked along the waist high metal railings, and though people were filtering in and out, he had managed to find a quiet corner curved away from the entrance. 

He was counting down the days till he could meet with the lawyers Andy had recommended, though it felt bittersweet. Booker had wanted this for so long now, and _Andy_ was the one helping him with it - and Joe was texting him times to call him tomorrow, and he met Quynh who seemed a _little_ intense but so, _so_ kind. And there was Nicky who he knew was an honorable guy, but had never gotten to know well, and now he was _with_ Joe. And they _all_ wanted to help - he was almost out. A light at the end of the dark tunnel. Freedom. And it didn’t mean a damn thing really, not when -

“I was never a fan of hide and seek.”  
  
Booker stilled, eyes widening - instantly recognizing her voice - but _shocked_ she was here. Neither Andy or Joe had mentioned it, and he had thought she was done . . . why was she here? 

He knew he’d falter once he saw her, beg for her forgiveness and plead that he can become a man of worth, someone she could be proud enough to be with. But God, he couldn’t even handle her standing this close to him. He smelled her citrus perfume, and he hadn’t even turned around to face her yet. He closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned off the railing, turning to face her - telling himself he could do this, he could be strong and resolute and not weep in front of her (again).  
  
Of course he wasn’t prepared for the absolute _vision_ standing in front of him: the gold dress glistened under the faint reflections of the glass and mirror paneling, but her skin looked just as radiant, and her lips looked so inviting . . . “Nile - you look - “  
  
His eyes wandered down: the way the dress clung to her really did not leave much to the imagination and he would be a liar if he didn’t admit that he hadn’t wondered what she looked like under the fall clothes she’d been wearing around him, “You look - “  
  
His eyes roamed back up to her face, slowly, and she stood so still. Like a statue, _like a Queen_ , even her braids had been piled like a crown around her head. His gaze settled on her beautiful face, and through the flimsy lace mask, Booker could see the gold eyeshadow on her eyes that made her brown skin sparkle.   
  
Only when her fingers curled into her fists gave away that she was potentially nervous. Though of what he couldn’t fathom, there was no reason for her to be, surely, “You look - “  
  
Dammit, he had started the same sentence three times, and finally he shook his head, realizing it just wasn’t going to happen. 

He couldn’t give the compliment without talking about how beautiful she was, and then that would lead to him telling her how beautiful she was on the _inside_ . And then he’d start admitting to all _sorts_ of crazy things, like how he dreamed of her, and of a future _with_ her, and how he _loved_ her, “ - I’m sorry.” _For so many things_ he wanted to add, to explain, to hope. But he couldn’t say more and when she stepped closer, he feared she might placate him, but otherwise encourage him to move on. 

“I should be apologizing to you Sebastien,” she pulled the mask off, “I lied to you.”

 _It didn’t matter_ he lied to himself, it didn’t matter that she did, because he had done worse. _So much worse_ , “I lied, too - at least yours was for a noble reason, mine was just to make the pain stop.”

“And has it?” there was a gentleness in her voice, a kindness he didn’t deserve. Surely by now she knew he had blocked her. He had sworn it was just going to be for a day or two, but it had already been five . . .  
  
 _She’s just referring to your work Booker, get a grip. Keep it casual_ , “Well, I’m just bracing myself for when Merrick figures out shits about to hit the fan - “  
  
But Nile was undeterred, taking another step closer, and Booker thought he saw something in her eyes. Pain? Caring? _Hope_ ? “And us?”  
  
“I thought -,” when he glanced at her eyes, he thought he saw something there for a moment. _Could it be?_ “ . . . Now that your thesis is done, and you guys have gotten all that you need - that you wouldn’t - want to see me anymore.”  
  
Nile was gentle, more patient than she should be, all things considered, “Why would you think that?”

Booker looked down, gripping the railing on either side of him, wishing he could sink back under the covers of his bed, “Well because you’re you, and I’m me - and now that your work is done - . . . . ” He didn’t want to say it, not really.

“You think I just like - _used_ you for my thesis?” Nile sighed and moved herself beside Booker, leaning against the railing as well, so close she was almost touching him. She clasped her hands together, and shook her head like this was ridiculous and she was merely trying to figure out how to say it without sounding mean. Because Nile was kind, and had integrity in spades.  
  
“Well no, not the thesis - you needed help figuring out what was happening with the - “  
  
But even Nile lost her reserve, frowning as she huffed, “So that’s it - you thought _this_ was fake or something?“  
  
And Booker feared that if he didn’t say something, she might just walk away. Funny, he was the one who blocked her in the first place, didn’t allow her to explain, _feared_ this moment for days - and now clung to it like a lifeline, afraid that if he let her leave, it would be for good. There was a desperation in his voice when he replied, “What, no - I just thought you were nice - I didn’t want to assume, because - ” _What do you have to lose now? She’s going to leave anyway, let it be with the truth_ , “Nile you - “ 

He exhaled a deep breath, he could feel her eyes on him, but dammit he couldn’t look at her just then. His voice sounded quiet when he finally admitted it out loud, “ - you have this kindness and integrity and honor - in spades, and I don’t deserve someone like you.”  
  
She inhaled, with this tiny little gasp, and then she leaned her head back against the pane behind them. A lightness in her voice, “You know I thought you were the brains of this operation, but you are being really dense right now.“  
  
Booker’s face shot to hers, utterly confused, “What?”  
  
Nile shook her head, then smiled up at him, as sure and resolute as ever - a look that said there would be no arguments to whatever she was about to say. And Booker braced his nerves . . . “I decide what I deserve.”  
  
She - what, _no_ \- somehow the thought of her _choosing_ him felt both like winning the lottery, _and_ humbling because she could have her pick. And she was choosing _him_? He should talk her out of this, “Nile - “ But his heart clenched at the idea, silencing him as soon as he started. 

“Now, my offer still stands - ” Nile unfolded her hands, stood a little straighter, and _smiled_ , “one year, one year sober and then I expect a date - until then keep doing the work, prepare whatever you need to before things go south at the museum, and unblock me because I expect more maturity than that, and I like hearing your voice. Until then, I’ll be here, waiting.”

Booker’s eyes felt a little heavy, like he was waking up from a dream (or a nightmare), and his brain couldn’t decide if this was real or not, “You would wait for me?”

Nile rested her cheek on her shoulder, a soft grin to those perfect lips of hers, “Six weeks - then I expect you to step up and woo me properly. You have no reason to be insecure now - at least not when it comes to me.” She looked down, just long enough for her hand to find his, and she linked them together, “This is real Sebastien.”

He could barely think straight. His head pounded, his heart thumped - _Mon Dieu_ . He, _how?_   
Booker felt her fingers tightening around him, grounding him, keeping him from floating away into his own thoughts and he finally looked back at her - unsure what to do with everything she had just said: convince her otherwise, thank her for the privilege?

Nile rolled her eyes a little, breaking through his serious mood, before smirking, “Will you just kiss me already?”

And though a small part of him knew she was out of his league, she made it abundantly clear she was choosing _him_ , and he was done questioning it. His newfound resolve must have been evident on his face, because beautiful, confident Nile stood there in silence - until she realized he was going to accept this - and he was going to kiss her. And her gaze softened.

He took one step forward turning to face her, and her eyes looked further up at him. Then he reached for her, one arm wrapping around her waist, and because of the cut of the dress, his fingers brushed against the skin of her exposed back. It felt soft and smooth and he moved the fingers along her spine, feeling her roll her shoulder blades as she shivered against the touch. Her eyes looked a little hazy, her hands reaching for the lapels of his jacket, seeking something to hold onto. His other hand lifted towards her jaw, gliding around her neck, feeling the fast heartbeat that matched his own. She tilted her body closer to his, stomach pressed against his, not one gap between them except their mouths, and he closed his eyes as he leaned forward.

And when his lips brushed against hers, when he felt her lean into him, Booker felt a sense of peace wash over his very soul. A warmth, a comfort - he’d been running for so long, chasing it down a bottle - and here she was in his arms. And she felt like home. 

It only meant so much more when he felt her kissing him back, when she tilted her head to deepen it - when her fingers roamed from the lapels of his jacket, to now pressing against the material of the button shirt underneath, as if to keep him in place. As if he would go anywhere else.   
  
And when her lips parted, and her tongue teased at the seam of his mouth, restraint evaporated as his hands pressed deeper into her skin - gosh hopefully not too hard, he would worry later. He might have been out of practice, but he made up for it in earnest effort. 

Booker opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, but keeping it slow and steady because dammit he was in no rush to hurry this along - he could kiss her for hours if his lungs didn’t insist on a break. Stupid human limitations.   
  
Only when their bodies insisted on air, did they part, breathing hard but _still_ \- she smiled up at him with a _‘whoa’_ , and he chuckled before trying to stifle it because if he let out everything he was feeling right now, he might just carry her over his shoulder out of here . . . Instead he leaned in to give her a far gentler, tamer kiss, and watched as she closed her eyes - humming against the contact.   
  
And he knew, _knew_ deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep her. Whatever it took, whatever she needed, whatever she needed _him_ to be - gentle, strong, cherished, treasured, encouraged, loved - whatever he had, was hers. He handed over the broken pieces of his heart, and she held it in her hands as if it was precious. And he loved her for it.

He was still drawing unknown shapes on her upper back with his fingers, unable to stop touching her just yet, when she opened her eyes and smiled weakly, “ _You_ monsieur are a great kisser.”  
  
Booker dipped his head into the crook of her neck - finally inhaling that scent up close (and it did not disappoint). But he especially liked how her grasp tightened on his jacket when he pressed his lips into the groove along the lean column of her soft skin, “I’m French, it’s a birthright.”  
  
She giggled, and even though he couldn’t see it because he’d much rather keep peppering kisses along her shoulder, he could practically feel her rolling her eyes at him, “Well Mr. Frenchman, before you get _too_ carried away, want to show me if you’re a good dancer, too?”  
  
He hugged her tighter to him, and smiled against the pulse point that vibrated harder against his lips, “So long I get to keep holding you, I’ll do whatever you want me to.”  
  
Nile’s hands moved from his jacket, up till she could reach his face, and he finally lifted his head, finding only gentle acceptance in her eyes - why hadn’t he noticed that before? “This is real, Seb - I hope you really know that now.”  
  
He nodded, feeling emotional, but refusing to give into that - part of him would probably _always_ question this, question how he could get so lucky - but he wouldn’t taint the conversations he had with her by having her always trying to assure him. Not anymore. He had other ways to enjoy his time with her . . . gently wrapping his hands around hers, he gave her one final little kiss, and they walked into the ballroom.

* * *

**December 31st - 11:43pm - Andy and Quynh’s townhouse**

**  
**As soon as the auction had closed, and Quynh had won the bid, Andy texted Nile to ask if she had found Booker - and if she could get a ride home with him. After ten minutes she texted back a winky face and wished her a good night. And of course, Andy was curious . . . but she really, _really_ just wanted to get Quynh home.   
  
They had been teasing each other for the last two hours, with lingering touches, and intense stares. And far too many drinks. Andy felt downright dizzy as Quynh helped her to the sofa, wondering if she was even going to make it up the stairs.   
  
But Quynh was either too blitzed herself to notice, or just didn’t think it was that bad, because the woman seemed to have energy for days. Even now, she was hovering over her, hurriedly tugging at Andy’s clothes, "Let's get more champagne and make out at midnight for good luck." 

It _sort_ of sounded like a question, but there was no room to counter, and Andy teased right back, "Do we need luck to stay together? You got some doubts about our permanence?”

Quynh was sitting on her lap, having already pushed her jacket down her arms, and was now working on the buttons of the blouse, " _Well_ according to Merrick I do have options."

"Ugh,” Andy shifted at the thought of him, “that tiny vile man."

Quynh leaned down closer, pushing the fabric over her shoulders, and giving open mouthed kisses to the freshly exposed skin, "You think Merrick is whacking off to me right now?"

"Gross -” Andy huffed, “though then again, I did when you weren't around." Yeah, she was _definitely_ inebriated. 

"I think yours looked a little different," Quynh whispered as her tongue curled around her ear lobe.

But it was starting to hit a little too close to home, and Andy turned away from her a little, "I don't want to talk about the things he said."

Quynh’s touches faded from passionate, to tender, “You know I belong to you right?

Andy closed her eyes, “We don’t own people Quynh.”

“Fine, I belong _beside_ you, better?” when Andy didn’t respond right away, Quynh raised her hand to gently pull her gaze towards her, “You know I was just teasing right?”

Andy knew it, but now seeing the newfound concern on her face, figured she’d better make that abundantly clear, “Yes I know, I just don't want to imagine his baby dick . . . “ 

Quynh dipped down towards her sternum, trying to stifle the laugh, "I think you're drunk."

Andy closed her eyes, and chuckled, " _Very_."

"Well I probably shouldn't take advantage of you then . . . ” Quynh lifted her head, and Andy opened her eyes to find her wife staring down into hers, “What a shame, because I was hoping you'd play with me tonight."

"What kind of game?" Andy mewled.

Quynh had a glint to her gaze, "Roleplay my characters from the book."

"Oi . . . I don't know if I have the stamina for it tonight," but her body was already intrigued, her hips even moving slightly underneath the pressure of Quynh’s thighs.

"Maybe not, but we can try anyway . . . " then she practically _bounced_ away, hollering back at Andy who could barely raise her head from the throw pillows, "I'll go get the restraints _Andromache_!!"

* * *

**January 1st - 1:15 - Copley Foundation New Year’s Eve Masquerade**

“I feel like a spy,” Nicky had mentioned with pride, as his head rested against Joe’s shoulder. 

He had whispered it, careful even now in case anyone could overhear them, but most of the party had wound down - even the fireworks had tapered off a while ago. Surely the cleaning staff would be asking them to leave soon, but Joe had _one_ more thing to do before they did. And here, in this beautiful conservatory where they were surrounded by glass and mirrors, with the night sky above them, felt as romantic as he could have ever planned it.

Resting his cheek on Nicky’s hair, Joe closed his eyes, trying to slow his heart a little so he didn’t sound breathless, “Nicolo - thank you for coming with us tonight.”  
  
He could hear the playful tone in Nicky’s voice, “I really like being an art investigator, and besides, I never wear a suit, and you did pick out a lovely one for me.”  
  
Joe moved a little, Nicky raising his gaze to him and Joe almost faltered - because Nicky looked at him so adoringly. How easy it would be to just say the three words hastily in a moment of weakness under that stare. But Joe wanted to court him, wanted to explain just how deeply Nicky had ingrained himself to his very soul.

Joe had only been dating Nicky for a week. _One week_ , and his whole life was in this man’s hands. It should scare him how much he cared for him, how easily Nicky could break him. But he saw a kindness in Nicky that the world did not deserve. He would never hurt anyone, especially not Joe. And that was because - though Joe wasn’t _entirely_ sure, he sometimes thought Nicky looked at him the same way - that he loved him, too.  
  
He pulled his mask off, and then reached up for Nicky’s before placing them in his jacket, “You look downright beautiful habibi - ya amar.”  
  
“What did you say? Ya - am- _rr_ ?”  
  
 _Adorable._ “Ya amar - it means _my moon_ .”  
  
“ _Your moon_ ? Arabic does have some nice nicknames,” Nicky’s eyes sparkled so beautifully in this light, deep ocean colors he could drown in right now if it weren’t for this one singular objective.  
  
“It’s not just a nickname - you are my moon Nicolo,” Joe reached up, cupping Nicky’s face in his hand, gliding a thumb over his cheekbone.  
  
Nicky leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and soaking in the words, but Joe had so much more to say. _So much more._ Wrapping his other arm around Nicky’s waist he pressed their bodies closer together. Normally they snuggled with one facing away, or at least their hips avoiding each other. And he hoped he wasn’t making him uncomfortable. 

Joe paused, trying to discern any look of protest or discomfort, but all he saw were those sweet eyes gleaming up into his, “You radiate kindness to those lucky enough to look up, Nicolo. You brighten up the darkest hour.”   
  
Nicky stiffened under his grasp, sucking in a breath, but Joe wasn’t done - far from it. He leaned forward, kissing Nicky gently on the lips, before roaming his mouth to his neck, “And like the moon affecting the ocean, you steady me in deep waters _and_ stir me in the waves.” 

Joe felt Nicky’s mouth open with a gasp when he placed a gentle kiss just under his ear lobe, “You both settle me _and_ beckon me to action hayati.”   
  
He felt Nicky’s trembling hands as they reached for him, pressing against his chest - not to push him away though, to clutch him even _closer_ it seemed. There was barely an inch between them, and Joe prayed Nicky couldn’t feel how his body was reacting to this closeness. Not when he hadn’t even gotten to the best part. Pulling back just enough to look into the now hazy eyes of his dear, sweet, Nico, Joe felt the immense pressure of relief for what he was about to say, “I can barely stand the thought of even taking this long to tell you habibi, how _deeply_ , how _fully_ I love you.”   
  
Nicky’s eyes widened a little, but any hope of deciphering his thoughts by the look on his face went out the window as he hurriedly leaned into Joe. Pleasantly surprised, Joe happily clung to Nicky’s body as he kissed him with rushed movements. Nicky dove his tongue into his mouth, and when Joe swiped his own against the increasing pressure, Nicky _groaned_. 

Nicky hadn’t kissed him like this before, but Joe certainly wasn’t going to complain or make a move to stop him. In fact, when Nicky _moaned_ into his open mouth, the sound vibrating all the way down to his chest, he pulled on Nicky’s jacket out of reflex trying to prevent his hips from rubbing against Nicky’s pant leg - because _fuck_ , he had never heard Nicky moan before.  
  
For a brief moment, when Nicky instantly pulled back, Joe feared his hips jerking might have been too much - implied too much, and he just needed his head to stop swirling for a moment, then he could assure Nicky he just got carried away with the kiss. His eyes opened hazily, feeling almost heavy but Nicky wasn’t looking at him, more like shivering in his arms - gaze focused on his chest.   
  
“Yu-yusuf . . . “ the tone in his voice was unfamiliar, and Joe wasn’t sure how to read it.   
Nicky looked like he was gnawing at his bottom lip, and there was a flush to his cheeks, “I - I feel . . . “

If Joe had hoped he would finish the sentence, he’d be disappointed. Nicky didn’t seem to have the words to explain, but didn’t deny looking up at Joe when he lifted his chin to meet his eyes. He was utterly unprepared for the wanton and yearning look he found in them. _I’ll drown in these eyes, and it would be a good death._ _  
_  
Nicky’s mouth was slightly open, the blush on his cheeks disappearing under the light beard, his breathing almost staggered. Goodness, if telling Nicky how much he loves him gets his Nicky going, he’ll learn every language he can, to do it over and over again. And though Joe would have been okay with either answer, really, truly okay, he asked what Nicky couldn’t say, “Do you want to come to my bed tonight ya amar?”  
  
Nicky swallowed, a little timid in his movements, and pressed his forehead to Joe’s shoulder. Only a moment passed, though for Joe it felt like it went on for hours . . . “Yes please.”  
  


* * *

**Jan 1st - 1:30 - Nile’s Apt**

They were sharing an Uber on the way back to Nile’s apartment. Sitting as close together as they could, fingers interlocked, and Nile’s arm looped through Booker’s, her free hand curved at the space over his bicep. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and her eyes closed, fighting off the very real threat of sleep.

Even though the car did have heat, she didn’t have the thickest material on, and Booker graciously offered his jacket to drape over her shoulders - which was fine by her, because it meant one less article of clothing separating her from his warmth. Maybe because they weren’t alone, or maybe because they were both just honestly at more peace than they had been in weeks, but neither of them spoke on that ride home. Just clung to each other, and when Booker’s cheek rested on top of her head Nile’s eyes did close, soaking in the closeness she had craved since that night on her couch almost two weeks ago.  
  
When the car pulled up, Nile stretched a little, and caught Booker slipping the driver a twenty - asking him to wait a little, so he could walk her to the door. _Always the chivalrous_ , Nile smiled to herself. Booker walked around the car while Nile shifted, careful to raise the dress above her ankles so the heels didn’t get stuck in the fabric. And when Booker opened her side of the car, he smiled until he saw the puddle of snow and ice spread along the curb. Nile looked down from the edge of the seat, the cold air making her skin shiver - but she shrugged, figuring she could jump across it. But without even asking Booker reached for her and wrapped a strong arm around her waist, practically hoisting her out of the car as he balanced with one foot on the one dry patch of cement that had been salted, and the other against the frame of the car.  
  
Nile kept firm hands on his shoulders, and kept her eyes down, _because whoa_ . . . it only took a moment, her own momentum helping in the swing. He easily lowered her to the pavement, though a little slowly, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let her go - which was fine by her if she was being honest, but _damn_ , it was cold . . . when she shivered a little harder he snapped out of the daze and took her hand to walk her up the steps to the (barely) warmer entryway of the apartment complex.  
  
Even then, he held the door open for her, and she chuckled as she passed him by, “A girl could get used to your knight in shining armor routine, Mr. Le Livre.”  
  
But Booker merely followed behind her, charming as ever, “I sure hope so.”  
  
She knew he wasn’t coming up - she hadn’t planned on inviting him to, wanting to stick to the timeline, and he hadn’t planned on it either since he had paid the Uber driver to stick around - but Nile still thumbled with the clutch that had her keys in it, and did not rush to pull the jacket off her shoulders, “Sebastien - “  
  
“Nile - “  
  
They had spoken simultaneously and a quiet laugh passed between them, before Nile finally raised her head and looked up into Booker’s kind eyes, “I’m having a hard time saying goodnight to you it seems.”  
  
Booker stepped a little closer, and Nile felt the same rush she had when he kissed her - _what a kiss_ . . . and under the harsh light of the entryway she could see where her lipstick had smeared against the corner of his mouth. It looked so good on him, “In all the ways I imagined this night going, this was not one of them.”  
  
He lifted his hands to cup her face, and when she placed her hands on his wrists, his jacket fell off her shoulder, but neither cared. He leaned forward resting his forehead against hers, and they both closed their eyes, standing there for a moment before Booker explained, “It scared me how much I care about you Nile.”  
  
She understood what he meant - he had loved and lost, and it still hurt him, and she could only imagine the fear in his mind. Nile rubbed her thumbs against sensitive skin, “And now?”  
  
Booker pulled back, just enough to open his eyes as he looked into hers, “Now I think about how my experiences have made _this_ all the more precious. You are precious to me.”  
  
Nile sighed as she soaked in his words, and pressed herself against him, needing at least one more soft kiss before he was going to have to leave - and as if on cue, the driver honked his horn, seemingly ready to get a move on which made them both laugh as they pulled apart, “I think I better get going before I have to walk home.”  
  
Nile nodded, releasing one grip, but moving her right hand into his left, so she could steady herself as she kneeled down to pick up his jacket. When she came back up he took it from her then raised the hand in his grip to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles. She’d love to argue it was the cold draft from the air that made her shudder, but if Booker’s smirk was any indication, they both knew it came from the way his hot breath felt on her skin, “Goodnight _ma chérie_.”  
  
She wished she could have had some witty comeback, or Hell said anything really, but him speaking French to her so endearingly made her speechless and she was glad he turned to leave - because she dropped her keys about a minute after the exterior door closed when she first tried unlocking the door. All she could think about was how in the _Hell_ was she going to make it six more weeks?  
  
About thirty minutes later, having just managed to wash her face and change into a baggy shirt and knitted socks - she heard her phone chime. She thought that maybe it had been Andy updating her on the sale, but when she saw it was Booker, she eagerly swiped to read his message:  
  
 _Thank you for tonight Nile_

She should have figured he’d unblock her, _because duh_ , but the evidence of it staring up at her left her grinning from ear to ear and she didn’t care if it seemed too eager, she typed him right back: _Thank you for the kiss Seb_ .  
  
She was being a little cheeky, but the plan of him continuing to text her worked, because a moment later on her way to her bedroom her phone chimed again: _Which one? :)_ _  
_  
Nile stopped in the hallway, just before her door, and leaned against the wall smiling: _You are a tease_ _  
_  
Then she flopped onto her bed, wondering if that had been too forward. Then again they had been making out not even an hour ago, a little honesty couldn’t hurt . . . the chime went off again: _Am I a tease if I aim to please?_  
  
Nile rolled onto her stomach because _hot damn that man_ . . . one night, and Mr. Touch Starved Sad Frenchman turned into Pepé Le Pew. _Six weeks_ \- she could do this, six weeks. Though maybe she’d have to insist on no in person visits, because if he kept these texts up - and kisses on her hand, and calling her _ma chérie_ in that perfect little accent of his, then she’d give in way, _way_ before the six weeks were over.  
  
Pulling the phone close, she leaned on her side, and shook her head with a smirk: _You monsieur will just have to please yourself for a few more weeks ;)_ _Good night Seb <3 _ _  
_  
_Good night ma chérie <3 _

Then she turned her phone off because she had nowhere to be tomorrow, and she planned on enjoying a full nights sleep of all things magical this evening. At this point, reclaiming a stolen artifact for their first Old Guard mission was just the icing on the cake, and she prayed that whatever happened next - that Booker’s potential legal troubles could be sorted out this cleanly. 

* * *

**Jan 1st - 2am Joe’s Apt**

By the time they had made it back to Joe’s apartment, Nicky was a raw bundle of nerves. He felt flushed, embarrassed, and stumbled over his words because frankly he had no idea what he was doing, or even really how to say what he wanted. Worse, he was beginning to fear that if he couldn’t get it together soon, then maybe Joe would think he changed his mind after all - or possibly regret all the beautiful things he had told him under the stars.  
  
And oh how beautiful his words were.  
  
The best Nicky could do was thumble through his, shaky and uncertain until they had reached Joe’s bedroom. He always thought Joe’s apartment was nicer - bigger, more modern. He had his art studio room, though plenty of supplies were strewn throughout. And he kept a modestly sized home gym in the corner of his large bedroom. Which now was giving Nicky all sorts of thoughts of possibly waking up to see him working out. And there was lots of natural light because he bought the loft on the third floor and several skylights throughout bathed it in moonlight. It was romantic, and serene . . . and he was ruining it with his flipping nerves.  
  
He wished he had a towel to fidget with like when Joe first kissed him.  
  
“Ya amar - “  
  
There was that sweet voice again, and Nicky’s wide eyes looked up, hoping his gaze would soothe him as much as his words did. Joe knew Nicky, knew him enough to realize he was barely hanging on by a thread here, and slowly walked up to him. He hadn’t moved from the bedroom door, though he gosh he could have sworn he did . . .  
  
When Joe’s hands cupped his face, his body stilled, and the nerves settled some because he did _want_ to do things, he just - ugh he couldn’t even word it in his head, how was ever going to say it out loud?  
  
“We don’t have to do anything Nicolo - just laying next to you tonight would be my privilege.”  
  
But Nicky shook his head, took a breath and bit his bottom lip, “I - I do want to do some things.”  
  
Joe looked a little relieved, but as patient as ever, “Then how about this - I will only touch you, how you touch me.”  
  
Nicky could feel the blush spread across his face, and his mouth opened a little, unsure how to reply to that. But that did sound nice. Like he could explore Joe carefully, and he would do the same . . . “Okay.”   
  
They had gone slow at first, Nicky taking off Joe’s jacket, then Joe taking off Nicky’s. Unbuttoning the shirt next, and Joe doing the same. Every move was mimicked until they were down to their underwear and Nicky felt even more shy because this man in front of him looked like actually _used_ the home gym he had. Nicky was in good shape himself, daily walks and watching what he ate and all that, but Joe was _defined_ and the way his ab muscles twitched at the sight of him made Nicky lick his lips - things moved faster after that.  
  
Still, maybe because Joe wanted to make absolutely certain he wasn’t just “laying there” like Nicky had confessed he had done with the women - Joe moved onto the bed first, settling halfway up on the head board, before Nicky tentatively sat down beside his thighs looking as bashful as ever. He was waiting, ready to go as slow or as fast as Nicky needed, but he wouldn’t make a move until Nicky did - seemingly handing over all control to the one guy who never felt the need to have it. It was downright nerve wracking, “May I - um, can I touch you here?”  
  
Nicky was hovering his hand over Joe’s chest, and Joe grinned nodding - before moving his own hand towards Nicky’s chest, “May I touch you here as well?”  
  
Nicky gulped and nodded, but actually gasped when he felt Joe’s fingers brushing his skin. No, it had definitely not felt like this with the women. And so they kept moving, Nicky tentatively asking every time he began to move his hand - to Joe’s side, or his stomach, his thighs - and Nicky felt like he could crawl out of his skin when Joe’s hands roamed to the same places on him. When Nicky finally asked if he could touch Joe between his legs, he sounded needy and Joe moaned when he did, nipping at his neck with open mouth kisses, “Please Nicky, can I - can I touch you as well?”  
  
He huffed out his ‘yes’, a barely audible affirmation, but enough for Joe to lower his hand from his waist. And Nicky’s head flung back to Joe’s touch, seeing the stars through the skylight above them, before he closed his eyes. He felt Joe’s body press against him as they helped each other simultaneously, no more questions to be asked, just kisses, and touches and passion between them now.  
  
He would never forget the way Joe’s body shook in his arms, and the sounds he made calling out his name. And when Nicky followed right after, he sank against Joe feeling a sort of contentment he never thought he could have. If Joe was expecting or hoping for more, he didn’t say anything, just pulled Nicky close until his head was on his chest as they both caught their breath. 

He fell asleep to Joe telling him he loved him . . .  
  
\---

Nicky’s head pulled up from the sheets when he realized Joe was no longer under him. He turned just enough to see that Joe was definitely missing from the bed, but it was Joe’s voice coming from a few feet away that assured him he was still there, “Hold still - I think I almost got those lovely shoulders just right.”  
  
Nicky sank back down into the bed, trying to resume the position he had previously, but still kept his face to the side so he could watch Joe sketching him from the chair in the corner. He was naked, and Nicky wondered if he could ask Joe to move the pad so he could enjoy the view . . . then blushed, _because where had that thought come from?_

“You know if you’re going to pass out every time you have an orgasm, you should just move your things in here already.”  
  
Nicky laughed because he thought Joe was teasing, but when his eyes settled on Joe’s face it died out, because - _holy crap, wait what?_ “I - uh, well I know we’ve been spending all this time together, and I know we talked about staying here before your semester starts - but - “  
  
Joe put the pencil down, seemingly giving Nicky all his attention for what he was about to say next, “I just um always thought, well that if I _live_ -live with someone, that I - that I would be married to them.”  
  
Joe didn’t miss a beat, a broad grin to match his dazzling dark eyes, “Oh have I not been clear that I'm marrying you?”

Nicky felt his chest tighten, then realized he was probably not being serious. It hurt enough that he looked down a little, before responding quietly, “Don't - don’t tease about that.”

“Who says I'm teasing?” was Joe’s immediate reply, but Nicky couldn’t read his tone.

He had already told him to not tease about something so serious, and he didn’t like that Joe was still continuing - so even though he meant it as a rhetorical question, the thought of Joe playing around about something like this made him feel defensive, “Are you proposing?”

Nicky couldn’t look at Joe, he felt embarrassed that he was feeling this strongly about it, and though he certainly hadn’t snapped, or sounded mean, there was an edge to his response - like a warning that implied it was a sensitive subject. _I should apologize . . ._

But before he could, Nicky heard Joe close his sketch pad, “ _When_ I propose to you there will not be a doubt in your mind I'm doing it.”  
  
Nicky’s eyes shot up, just in time to see a very resolute, and very naked, Joe walking towards the bed. He didn’t move a muscle, frozen on the look Joe was giving as he climbed into the bed beside him. But once he saw Joe’s legs go on either side of his thighs - warm flesh against his own - Nicky moved onto his back, trying to ignore what was happening down _there_ with the close contact.   
  
But Joe hovered over him, careful not to actually sit in his lap, then rested his hands on either side of Nicky’s face, “I'm not right now, but know it Nicolo - know it deep in your bones, I love you - and the best is around the corner.” 

Nicky’s breath hitched in his throat, and he surprised them both when he hurriedly reached up for Joe and pulled him down on top of him.

* * *

  
  
**NOTES:**  
  
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - you guyssssss!! There is SO much fluff, and sexiness in this chapter, like WHOAAAA . . . writing for three horny couples was _interesting_ xD

By the way, am I now considering writing a short prequel of Andy and Quynh falling in love in a University library reading Sappho to each other? . . . _maybe_.

Also, Booker is a menaceeeee and will definitely be making up for lost time xD  
  
  
 **COMING UP NEXT TIME:**  
  
Authenticating the piece! Lawyers, feds, the whole nine yards . . . except if they could also get some security tapes from the museum showing ~~Babydick~~ Merrick being an asshole, that would be helpful. Wonder who still works in the museum who might try to sneak copies of those when Keane isn't working? Except of course Keane and his goons show up - and things get intense!  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were supposed to be winding down - our couples are happy, legal issues are being resolved, a statue is saved from the black market and going back to where it belongs. The worst was supposed to be over . . . and then Nile and Nicky came up with a plan.

_“Am I walking towards something I should be running away from?” - Shirley Jackson_

* * *

**NOTES:** Did I realize that I sort of forgot to have Nicky tell Joe he loves him in the last chapter? _Maybe._ Did it make for an even better morning after scene in this opening? YUP. And eff it, I’m rating it mature now . . . though I don’t describe the genitalia there’s just too many instances of innuendos to warrant a teen rating anymore. But no regrets, it’s worth it to have Joe mention “thick thighs” *eyebrow wiggle*  
  
ALSO enjoy the “It’s so FLUFFY I’M GONNA DIE” chapter! We got Joe x Nicky in domestic bliss, we got Mr. Touched Starved Frenchman on Cloud 9 (who’s love language has _got_ to be physical touch), and we got Andy supporting her wife, and distracting her in *ahem* romantic ways - _bathe_ in the endorphins for a moment . . . because I am ending it on a horrible cliffhanger, sorrrrrryyyyyy!!  
  
BUT also, the next chapter is the FINALEEE . . . and then I’m giving you THREE epilogues, one for each couple which will be _total_ fan service again, so hang in there, it'll be a bumpy ride but I’ll feed ya after! <3

* * *

**January 1st - Joe’s Apartment**   
  


After last night he shouldn’t have this much energy.  
And yet Joe felt downright perky as the sun came up - he could always crash later.   
  
But he did pause for several minutes to slowly untangle himself from Nicky, who seemed dead to the world at this point. When he was unrestrained, Joe moved to his side, as gently as possible brushing a few strands out of Nicky’s way so he could take in his peaceful, sleeping face. His lips were slightly parted, a soft breath emerging that warmed Joe’s fingers as they traced along his beard. His eyes flickered under his eyelids like he was dreaming, and his shoulders rose under each inhale, and sagged under the exhale. _He’s so beautiful._   
  
His body craved more, wanted him to lean forward, wake him up with kisses and more love declarations and end with moans and stuttering out each other’s names . . .  
  
 _I should let him sleep him though_ . Last night was - _incredible, amazing, magical_ . Joe had been prepared for the long haul, to wait months, hell even _years_ if that was what Nicky needed. But all it seemed to take was knowing he was seen, accepted, and loved, endlessly, completely. And when Nicky pulled him down last night, Joe must have asked him at least four times if he was sure - that they didn’t have to, that he loved him enough to wait (which in hindsight, might have been exactly what got Nicky going in the first place). His original idea of proclaiming his love to Nicky in different languages might really be something for him to look into down the line to spice things up . . .  
  
But for now, Nicky needed some rest, so Joe decided to burn off this pent up energy in some other way . . . heading to the attached bath, he rubbed his eyes a little with his palms and rummaged for some sweats in the closet. He could be quiet during the workout, and his room was big enough. When he looked in the mirror, he gave himself a lopsided grin. A horrible case of bedhead if he had ever seen one. But he had gone to sleep promptly after collapsing, and Nicky had tugged at his hair a lot, so it wasn’t entirely his fault. Figuring he’d need a shower after the workout anyways, he pressed it down with his hand as best as he could, and grabbed a towel for the sweat.

He paused near the bed, practically willing Nicky to wake up, because his skin was itching to touch him again - but he wasn’t sure if that was okay yet. To wake him up with an expectation, a hope of desire. He didn’t want to assume, and Nicky didn’t even stir under his gaze, so Joe went with the original plan and headed towards the gym equipment by the large window. It was probably the main selling point for him, the huge skylight, and the window on the wall that took up almost half the room. There were no other buildings higher than his loft nearby, and Joe had quite the naughty thought of Nicky near the window, taking in the sights of the city on the horizon - and taking him.  
  
He shook his head and dragged a hand over his face, because now that he had had all of Nicky, he wasn’t sure if he could really slow down. They’d definitely would need to have a talk of expectations and what Nicky hoped for down the line . . . But he didn’t want to spend too much energy swirling on the what ifs. After a quick warm up, he grabbed the bars and began to work on pull ups, a slight grunt happening around the fifth rep. He thought he’d been quiet enough, but when he finished the last one and stood on his feet again, he realized Nicky was sitting up in the bed. His knees were drawn up a little, his arms resting on them, and hands loosely clasped together. He was staring, but there was a lightness to his face - a slight smile.  
  
Joe took the towel he had placed nearby, rubbing the sweat from his face, and wrapping it around his neck before holding the ends in his hand, “How long have you been awake?”  
  
Nicky leaned his cheek into the palm of his hand, looking as adorable as ever and Joe almost jumped onto the bed - “Just long enough to watch you break into a sweat.”

Joe felt himself growing a little nervous under that stare, because he wanted to ask about a few things, but at the same time was a little worried about the answers. Releasing the towel from his grip, he began to walk over to the bed, “Mm, how are you - um, feeling this morning?”

Nicky’s smile broadened, though he did look away, still a little shy it seemed, “Good - you are a kind lover.”  
  
Joe wanted to kiss him so badly, he could have dove into the bed right then and there, but he felt it better if he cleared a few things up first. He did dip down, sitting on the end, willing himself to stay put even though Nicky felt so close, “Hm thank you, I did try to restrain myself a little.”  
  
Nicky’s eyes widened a little, then shook his head grinning, “Oh, well - I guess I better brace myself for next time.”  
  
 _Good_ , he wanted to do it again, _okay_ that’s one question answered . . . He leaned on his right arm, looking down at the patterns on his comforter, “Did you mean it when you were telling me you loved me last night?” 

Nicky hadn’t said it right away, and not that Joe was expecting him, too. He suspected Nicky did, but this was his first relationship with a man, and it wasn’t like there was a rulebook to how it had to go between them. But last night, when Joe pressed their bodies together, and kissed him until Nicky was panting with need - he stuttered out his own love declarations in English _and_ Italian. He said it over and over again against Joe’s ear, and jaw, and shoulders. Searing them down into his very skin. Even now the memory of it made his skin feel hot.

“Why wouldn’t I?” there was confusion in Nicky’s voice, but when Joe raised his gaze to his he only saw patience and curiosity.

He didn’t want to talk about previous lovers, not in bed, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been told he’d been loved and the next morning they were out the door. Joe knew he fell hard, came on too strong. He was an intense presence, and he had wasted his time by not setting boundaries, both for himself and with others. Nicky was different, he got to know him for the last six weeks, they were friends first (though of course Joe prayed for more the whole time). And he wanted to be patient and understanding, and court Nicky properly because that’s what Nicky deserved. 

But when Nicky told him he loved him while they made love, it almost broke him. A small part of him that was a little wounded from the past, feared Nicky would be gone in the morning. That maybe he’d been too intense again (though to be fair, he had never slipped into poetry and compared a lover to the moon when confessing his feelings before - so when it came to Nicky, it seemed his intensity level was amped up by a hundred).  
  
Joe was taking too long to answer - and he knew that one day he’d share this with Nicky, who was so kind and patient. But he wavered under that stare, and breathed out his response just above a whisper, a sort of resignation in his voice, “Sometimes people say things while they’re doing it - “ And then he went quiet, unable to finish the sentence.  
  
After only a moment of pause, Nicky moved quickly, just like last night - practically crawling towards him in his haste, and the sheet around his hips fell revealing everything. He looked just as good in the sunlight as he had in the moonlight, Joe thought before suddenly having a whole _lapful_ of this man in his arms. But once Nicky was sprawled across his lap, his chest on his stomach, his face pressed on Joe’s pec, he looked up at him with such tenderness. Nicky searched his face for something, then lifted his hand to his cheek, and Joe closed his eyes because he knew it today, just like he knew it last night - Nicky could break him so easily. He really loved him that much.  
  
“Yusuf,” Joe opened his eyes hazily, and when he looked down at Nicky, he clung to him harder, cradling him in his arms like a lifeline, “ _Ti amo, amore mio_. I’m as sure of it this morning as I was last ni- “  
  
Then Nicky paused, sort of laughing at himself as he realized, “Well, that was this morning technically wasn’t it? What time is it even?”  
  
This man in his arms - this very _naked_ man in his arms - had just told him he loved him, afterwards, in the daylight (and with not one ounce of regret). It should have been a romantic moment that brought tears to Joe’s eyes but instead Nicky was so damn adorable as he gazed up at him, that all Joe could do was lean down and kiss him tenderly. A soft kiss, a promise of more to come, “It’s almost noon habibi.” 

Nicky looked genuinely surprised, but they had been up late last night . . . “I’m not used to sleeping in so late. I better start the day before it gets away from me completely. I still need to function at work tomorrow.” 

He began to lift up out of Joe’s arms, but Joe pulled him right back down, “Call out tomorrow, take some vacation time?”  
  
Nicky laughed lightly, “What, why?”  
  
Joe hugged him tighter, nuzzling his face into the crook of Nicky’s warm neck, “Because I want you under me until our money runs out.”  
  
Nicky laughed, downright giggling and Joe pulled back, not sure how to take _that_ reaction, but still Nicky’s laugh did put a smile on his face, “What’s so funny?”  
  
“Your beard, it was tickling me when you were talking - I’m sorry, I’m sure you were being at least somewhat serious.”  
  
“I was being very serious,” his tone softened, but still smiling as Nicky settled against his chest once again.  
  
After a moment Nicky looked up at him, a slight blush on his face, “Should we take a shower, uh together? Is that okay?”  
  
Joe nodded, but Nicky _must_ have been able to feel his desire against him, because where else had that blush come from? Nicky hoisted himself up, presumably to walk towards the bathroom, but Joe remained frozen enjoying the view in front of him - and not hiding his obvious stare. Because it seemed Nicky was feeling the same way - especially when he tried covering up the evidence with his hands between his legs, “Thinking of things?”  
  
Nicky nodded, his chest heaving a little, “Um, maybe I need to make it a cold shower.”  
  
Joe had wondered if Nicky would need time before trying again, or if his desire would wax and wane like moon patterns. He wondered if even Nicky knew those answers. Last night he breathed hard afterwards and said his previous experiences were nothing like what they had done. Joe wanted to ask, but he decided to tease instead - if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t take it personally, and join Nicky in the cold shower, “Why take a cold shower when we could take care of that now?”  
  
Either Nicky would politely decline, say he wasn’t interested, or go for it . . . “I - I wouldn’t mind trying again.” _Yes!_  
  
Joe spread his legs a little, making it downright obscenely obvious that Nicky had nothing to hide himself, “I hope you never feel the need to take a cold shower again Nicolo. If you want it, you can have it. Anytime.”  
  
“I think - I think you’re trying to seduce me into not going back to work tomorrow,” Nicky teased right back, but he still hadn’t moved.  
  
Joe raised an eyebrow, “Is it working?”  
  
Nicky closed his eyes for a moment, a smirk on his lips, before releasing his grip on himself and walking over to Joe, “Sorry, no - at least not when it comes to work tomorrow.“  
  
Joe reached out, surprising Nicky, but hopefully he could feel there was no real pressure behind the move. He pulled him down by the wrist, forcing Nicky onto the bed before he climbed on top of him, “Well then I better get my fill now while I can.”  
  
Nicky reached up, tracing an index finger on Joe’s chest, “You act like I’m not coming home right after.”  
  
Joe grinned and leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead, “I like how you call this place your home.”  
  
Nicky looked up into his eyes, “I feel at home whenever I’m with you - whether here, or at my place, or even in the middle of a grocery store.”  
  
Joe’s heart felt full, and he reached for Nicky’s hand, raising it to his lips, “And you joke you’re not a poet - but you move my heart just the same ya amar.”  
  
This time when they made love again, it was slow, and tender and filled with lovely promises.  
  
Later, when Nicky was in the shower (and Joe promised he’d join him momentarily), Joe reached for his sketch pad - to jot down some proposal ideas already swirling in his mind. But it was hard to think straight in this love haze, and Nicky _was_ naked in his shower . . . _hm_ , if Nicky was going back to work tomorrow, Booker likely was, too. Nile would be free, and maybe she’d appreciate the distraction of helping him plan, to gather his ideas into some sort of coherent idea. He was afraid to ask Quynh, since she’d probably make it a whole damn production. But Nicky wouldn’t want too fancy of an affair, and Joe didn’t need one. He just needed to tie himself to Nicolo in all ways.  
  
And since Nicky had talked about wanting to be married to someone before actually moving in together - though Nicky’s toiletries being scattered on the right side of his double sink for the last two days made it seem like a bit of an empty saying at this point - Joe felt the need to do it sooner rather than later.   
  
His mind began to swim with ideas, but he paused for a brief moment, overcome with the emotions: He had a roof over his head, he had food in his fridge, he had a job that he loved. His lover was in his shower, he had friends to call on to discuss proposal ideas, Booker texted him they could chat tomorrow (because _that_ was actually happening - they were working on having a friendship again), _and_ they had managed to secure one art piece that they’d spend the next month on authenticating. 

The blessings of all those things in less than a season was so beautiful that he began to pray, thanking Allah - and promising to cherish all of it, never wanting to take any of it for granted . . . and that would start by not making Nicky wait alone for him in the shower.  
  
Joe closed the sketchpad, took a deep breath, and walked into the shower to Nicky’s waiting hands and kisses.

* * *

**January 14th - Andy and Quynh’s Townhouse**

Booker and Nile had rounded the corner for Andy and Quynh’s townhouse, though most of the street looked fairly dark after the sun had gone down. It was blisteringly cold, but Booker could care less. He was holding Nile’s gloved hand, and she looked so pretty all bundled up beside him. When she shivered a little, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they quickened their pace, hoping it would warm her a little, “I should have ordered an Uber for us. _Je suis désolé_.”  
  
But Nile merely interlocked her fingers with his near her shoulder and assured him with a sweet tone in her voice, “ _D’accord_.”

 _Mon Dieu_ , she knew what it did to him when she spoke French back to him so easily. She’d been working on learning it for a while, but certainly in earnest in the last two weeks, and yes, she did get a “French for Dummies” book on her phone because he might have gotten a little _too_ excited about rewarding her with kisses when she got the pronunciation right after their third lesson. She was far away from being able to converse in it, but even the basics made his mind wander . . . and dangit, Andy’s place was already in sight.  
  
“Oh Seb, look - one of the townhouses is for sale.”  
  
He barely registered the for sale sign (still distracted by thoughts of reward kisses), until Nile paused in her steps to read the flyer attached to a protective plastic box, “I wonder if it has the same floor plan as Andy and Quynh’s - they have such a nice space. And close to the U, too.” 

It was about four houses down from theirs, and most of the block worked at the university in some sort of capacity. Booker reached for an extra flyer, careful not to break contact with Nile, and grinned, “We should give one to Joe and Nicky, maybe they’ll move here.”  
  
Something flashed over Nile’s eyes, but it was so fast he wasn’t sure he even saw it, much less discern its meaning, “- Yeah, I could see them enjoying living here.” Then she put her flyer back in the box, and began to lead them the rest of the way. It wasn’t until they were one house away from Andy’s, that it dawned on Booker she might have been referring to _him_ buying the place.  
  
In the last two weeks, with Nile pretty much at his place the entire time he wasn’t working, it became pretty obvious that his place was way too small. But to be fair, he rented the old apartment solely for the Victorian era fireplace that he could frame around with books upon books. And Nile did say how much she enjoyed sitting in front of it with him as they read together under big comforters, exchanging ideas and wisdom and joys - and yes, he did enjoy the kissing portion, too.

But when Nile introduced him to yoga they learned pretty quickly that it would have to take place in her far more barren apartment. At his apartment, they’d end up tangled against one another a little too easily . . . and once, when she rolled onto her back to avoid him falling on her learning a more moderate move (because as she liked to joke, he was a “pretzel” and breezed through the beginner stage in no time), he caught himself just in time. Of course, now she was lying under him, and they might have gotten a _little_ carried away where they both ended up shirtless before stopping themselves. He practically _ran_ for a cold shower, but the sight of her underneath him, sweaty and half naked was _still_ haunting him at night. But he was working on being a man of worth, and that meant sticking to the boundary. Not dating for one more month. _One month._   
  
Though to be fair, they _kind_ of were in every other sense of the word. But neither would admit that out loud.  
  
Both of their leases just happened to be done in May, and _maybe_ they had talked about moving in together if the whole dating thing went well - you know, for whenever they _started_ dating. Now Booker wondered if Nile was dropping hints about him living close to the University.   
  
The last two weeks had seemed like a dream (well actually the last six weeks, but especially the last two with Nile). He should have tried sobriety and honesty a long time ago with these kinds of results. And sure, Andy and Quynh allowed Booker to share what little notes he had on the Sappho statue, but if they were going to legitimately authenticate it, then they all understood he could not have one part in the process. No one had said it out loud, but they all knew Booker would never work in the academic world again. His results couldn’t be trusted. But the loss of his career was a small price to pay in order to live an honest life.  
  
So buying a house close to the university didn’t make a whole lot of sense.  
However buying a place so he could be close to the others - well that sounded amazing.  
  
Not only had he been growing closer to Nile, but he had been really trying to work on things with Joe. They had talked a few days after the masquerade, when he had stopped by Nicky’s office for lunch, and then came to Booker’s office to chat. And though it felt a little awkward, Booker explained how hard it was for him when Joe called his “bike” his baby in the past, and Joe, bless him, winced when he realized - apologizing profusely, and unable to accept Booker’s platitudes that he just wanted to let him know for the future, until Booker stood from his desk and hugged him.  
  
And Joe hugged him so warmly, and told him in French that he had missed him a lot - and he expected him to finish the soccer season with him. They hadn’t watched (and playfully argued) over a game since he had left, and Booker thought he might just burst into tears alongside Joe. He held it together, but just barely, nodding and promising he’d love to.   
  
And that’s how Booker and Nile had spent two nights in the last two weeks at Joe’s place, watching the game, while Nicky whipped up delicious dishes in the kitchen that made Nile moan (which definitely did not go unnoticed to Booker). Usually while Joe and Booker were engrossed in the game, Nile and Nicky lounged off to the side, discussing different eras of art history and concepts of their faiths. They really seemed to bond over social justice issues the most though, and were itching to hear back from the lawyers once Andy and Quynh had finished with the authentication.  
  
But that would likely still be a few weeks, and they had been so engrossed in it, that barely anyone had heard from them. So when they reached out, saying that they should all have one game night before the new semester starts - and that Booker “better be there, too” - they all settled for the best time and date, and were now about to walk up the stone steps. With all this statue business who knew when the next one would be. But frankly, Booker was just excited to finally be coming to Andy’s for a _fun_ reason, and he thanked the Almighty that it was with Nile at his side.   
  
However when he looked up at the door he froze, and Nile squeezed his arm harder, stifling the smile as he read the homemade sign that was surely painted by Joe: _‘Congratulations Frenchie’._  
  
“Qu'est ce que?”   
  
Nile leaned her head on his shoulder, “I promise we are also doing game night, but well - you did tell them you were in the program, so I may have filled in the gaps about a special day today, because I’m proud of you.”  
  
“Nile - this, oh my - “ dammit he needed to stop crying in front of this woman so easily. He turned, dipping his head close to hers while she raised her gloved hands to his face, “ _Ma cherie_ \- you are too gracious with me.”  
  
But Nile encouraged him to look at her, and when he did, she shook her head, “I’m just helping you be gracious with yourself Booker. You earned that chip today, and myself and your friends want to celebrate that with you.” Then she leaned in, beaming up at him with a broad grin, “So let’s ok?”

God, he could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve this woman - but he’d keep working at it. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he practically lifted her off the ground, her toes barely touching the pavement, “You Nile Freeman are _too_ precious.”  
  
Nile encircled her arms around his neck, squeezing him just as hard, her eyes swimming with emotion, “Just kiss me already will you?” (it was quickly becoming one of her favorite retorts anytime he seemed overwhelmed).  
  
Booker smirked - “Gladly” - before leaning into her.

Would he ever get enough of this? Probably not . . . especially with the way her mouth felt against his. It had to be ten degrees with a wind chill, his skin begging him to seek some heated indoor space, but his heart wouldn’t let him break this kiss just yet. A whole embrace of Nile in his arms, her warm lips on his, the way his mind shouted at him to dip his tongue into her mouth -  
  
“You two are going to get stuck like that,” Quynh’s voice shouted from the door, practically in giggles.  
  
Nile looked almost bashful, but Booker did not rush to let her down onto her feet just yet. He’d prefer the gentle glide slowly down the front half of his body _thank you very much_. However once securely straightened out, he did finally look up at Quynh, to see Andy directly behind her, “Did you like the sign? Joe made it.”  
  
Booker shrugged his shoulders with a grin, “I figured.”

Taking Nile’s hand in his, they ascended the steps and barely made it inside when Quynh hugged him first, followed closely by Andy. They were both offering their congratulations about the eleventh month anniversary, and though maybe Booker could have suggested the red tint to his face was because of the cold, he didn’t mind if they realized it was because he was emotional. He felt overwhelmed by how easily they had allowed him back into their lives, how they were slowly stripping away past hurts for future promises, how they talked and shared things like “game night” with him. How he now had people in his life that were proud of him.   
  
It had been a long time.  
He had been proud of himself when he had made it a week, then a month, then another, and so on . . . but _this_ , this was different.  
  
Nile had finished hanging up her things, when he felt her tugging at his jacket, trying to help him out of his before he dripped any more snow on their tile entryway. And with a quiet _thank you_ , she piled his jacket, scarf and gloves next to hers and turned just in time to see Joe and Nicky emerge from the dining room. 

“Frenchie!” Joe shouted, arms wide and when Booker didn’t hesitate felt himself picked off the floor for a moment before being patted on his shoulders, “I am _so_ proud of you!”  
  
If Booker thought he could go this night without tears, he was absolutely deluding himself. Because as soon as Joe backed away there was Nicky, still rolling up an apron in his hands, “Congratulations Booker - I made a whole French feast in the dining room.” With the messy apron secured, he gave Booker a quick hug then stepped back to Joe, “Yusuf called it a party theme, so I hope you like Ratatouille - I love that movie, don’t you?”  
  
Gosh, no wonder Joe was drawn to him - he was quite sweet and kind to go out of his way to cook for him. Nicky seemed to like it, but he could have just as easily ordered something . . . He didn’t really know what to say, and he realized he hadn’t answered Nicky yet, “Oh I’m sorry - _yes_ , thank you I like the food, but I don’t think I’ve seen the movie.”  
  
Nicky tucked his arm around Joe’s and simply smiled, “Maybe next time, before the game starts we could watch it? What do you think Nile?”   
  
Nile laughed, “Sure, but maybe we should let our boyfriends just enjoy their soccer game, while you and I have a sleepover in the bedroom and binge Disney+.”  
  
Everyone laughed _except_ for Booker, because _merde_ , had Nile just called him her boyfriend? Now his face really had to be red, it felt practically burning. And _of course_ Joe had to be the first one to notice. With a pointed finger he practically shouted, “Ah ha! So you two _are_ dating!”  
  
Nicky scrunched his nose, utterly confused, “Haven’t they _been_ dating?”  
  
Booker wanted to deny it, but instead he looked down at Nile, silently asking, _‘Well are we?’_  
  
But she didn’t look up at him, merely trying to explain it away (and doing a poor job of it), “No - not quite, we are still waiting for the one year next month, then he can date me.”  
  
Wait, did everyone know about the one year thing? 

She must have sensed his body tensing, because she looked up at him with an unreadable expression, “I might have mentioned it to Joe, about your one year anniversary being next month, and how I was looking forward to our first real date while we were planning _this_ out - “  
  
But then she looked at Joe, “Though I didn’t realize you’d tell _everybody._ ”  
  
Joe didn’t miss a beat, giving a teasing smile, “Well you did place a bet on Nicky and I so I figured it was only fair - “ Then he _winked_ .  
  
“You made a bet? Who all bet?” she demanded to know.  
  
Though Booker was utterly confused, he was quickly catching on, and even Nile couldn’t help the smile breaking through when she saw one after another raising their hands - Nicky sheepishly last, “Sorry, Nile.”  
  
Booker put his arm around Nile’s waist, and teased the others, “How much is in the pot, I might join in?”   
  
Nile scoffed, but with a playful tone in the move, completely bypassing his suggestion, “ _Besides_ \- no, we have not officially started dating yet.”  
  
Andy and Joe groaned, Nicky still looked embarrassed for having been caught betting, but Quynh chimed, “All but in name.“  
  
Andy agreed, folding her arms over her waist, “You two are all over each other, at this point it’s like watching Victorian porn.”  
  
Booker looked down at the floor, trying not to laugh, but Nile only grabbed onto Booker’s arm tighter, “Well not that it’s _anyone’s_ business, but Booker is a gentleman and has been respectful of the boundary I placed - and I can still be affectionate as much as I’d like until then.”

Then she leaned up, offering him a chaste - _Victorian?_ \- kiss on his warmed cheek. And Booker was grateful she didn’t bow under the pressure of the teasing to withdraw from him the rest of the evening. In fact, after the dinner (and creme brulee for dessert, which really Nicky should open an eatery at this point), Nile even draped her legs over his on the couch when they played cards.   
  
Guess no one can tell his women what to do.  
And he loved her even more for it. 

* * *

**January 20th - Bythewood University Research Library**

At this point, putting the finishing touches on the final report was more of a formality than anything else. Quynh and Andy had been keeping the lawyers up to date, and between Booker’s official statement, and Copley’s as well - they were merely waiting on the final copy to hand over to the Department of Homeland Security. It was almost all over, but there was a little sadness, a bittersweet feeling, as Quynh carefully packed up the statue for delivery. They were both hoping they could oversee the final transfer in Pompeii, but really that final decision wouldn’t be up to them, “I wonder if this is the last time we get to see her.”  
  
Andy looked up from the report (just a few more footnotes to plug in then it would be ready for print), and watched her secure the lid, “Even if we don’t get to, we can follow her anyway - we’ll just be obnoxious tourists visiting the site on our own accord?”  
  
She was teasing of course, but Quynh looked a little sullen and Andy knew why - because she wasn’t feeling all that elated tonight either. They had a long meeting scheduled earlier in the day, and with all the evidence laid out, and the testimonies, the lawyers explained that Merrick would unlikely see prison time. Sure, his reputation would be sullied by Copley’s and Booker’s statements, but Merrick was smart: he only ever talked directly with Copley and Booker - nothing in writing, or in an email. And only Copley ever wrote out the orders for Booker. It wasn’t that nobody believed Merrick was behind it, but his lawyers would easily be able to argue around it. They could fight off the charges with motions after motions, and bid him years of time in avoiding any consequences.

He would likely be advised to step back from the museum while things were being investigated, and hell he might even lose some money in legal fees, or certain museum related accounts frozen during the process - but overall Merrick came from a lot of money. Even if he literally didn’t make another penny off the museum, he’d be okay. And it pissed them all off.   
  
When Andy and Quynh had updated everyone on that front, there was a general agreement of the unfairness of it all. And though they were glad that Booker’s statement came with immunity of charges (though naturally he’d be forfeiting any money he had been given from Merrick for the forgeries), even _that_ good news felt sullied by the reality that Merrick would get nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Copley’s Foundation would be shut down, another black market scheme would probably pop up in his stead. And Booker would never work in academics again (though he seemed oddly okay with that).  
  
Andy pushed away from the table, looking up at Quynh, and hating to see the sadness in her eyes, “I know it’s not quite what we were hoping for _Cu’ng_. But I hope you know how much I appreciate your hard work.”  
  
“ _Our_ hard work,” was Quynh’s steadfast reply.  
  
But Andy shook her head, “Quynh you bought this piece, if it hadn’t been for you we wouldn’t even have had this statue for proof. You saved the day in the eleventh hour.”  
  
Quynh moved quietly, seating herself in Andy’s lap, and wrapping weary arms around her neck, “You have done so much too Andy. Don’t discredit yourself please - and besides, we wouldn’t even have that money if you hadn’t allowed me to share our story in writing.”  
  
Andy’s hands roamed around her waist, keeping her close, “Those stories were part of your art therapy, and I’m glad you felt safe enough to explore your feelings through them - though -“  
  
Quynh pulled away just a little, sitting straighter, “ - I know, I know, you just wished I would have left out the sexy parts.”  
  
Andy chuckled a little and nodded, “Well the details about the toys was a _tad_ exaggerated Quynh.”  
  
Quynh curved her index finger and thumb closer together to make a sign, “ _Just_ a tad bit, but maybe we can try a few some day?”  
  
Andy leaned forward to place gentle kisses against Quynh’s warm neck, “Like any toys could compare - “  
  
Quynh sighed against the contact, and finally smiled, which was Andy’s main objective anyway, “How much longer till we can go home?”  
  
Andy’s hands roamed, one going up her rib cage, the other down to her thigh, “I just need to print out the report - the one where I talk about how smart, and brilliant and kind and heroic my wife is - “  
  
Quynh’s legs parted a little when Andy’s hand moved between them, first near her knees, but slowly roaming up, “Andromache - “  
  
Andy nipped at the flesh under her ear to tease, “Or - we could take a break and use the couch in my office like we used to.”  
  
Quynh’s fingers moved towards her hair, wrapping strands through the grip, and yanked Andy’s head back in a firm move. But Andy only smiled up at her, mischievous as ever, “You wifey are trying to distract me from that meeting aren’t you?”  
  
Andy breathed a little harder when Quynh’s other hand began to push open her blouse, tentative fingers roaming over the soft flesh under her collarbone, “Is it working?”  
  
Quynh’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of something intense behind the gaze that even now, years later still made Andy shiver underneath the touch, “ - Yes.”

Andy closed her eyes when Quynh leaned into her. The report could wait.

* * *

**January 25th - Joe and Nicky’s Apartment**

Because Joe kept teasing about “permanence” and proposals “around the corner”, Nicky caved and gave his 30 day notice. They had just returned from lugging the last boxes into Joe’s entry hallway as Nicky rummaged through the first one to make sure nothing was broken. He certainly wasn’t a hoarder, but you always end up having more stuff than you think you do - and it took just about the entire thirty days to downsize even his small apartment (and leave a few days for final cleanings and inspection). Of course, even though Nicky’s nerves were frazzled, Joe couldn’t be happier. Even after his classes started, he would come straight to Nicky’s apartment at the end of the day and pack, and wrap, and help run bags of donations. If he didn’t look so cute with his lopsided grin, Nicky might have been confused about him humming through the workload most days.   
  
Now though as he made his way past the boxes he’d be unloading over the next several weeks, Nicky finally had a chance to just flop on Joe’s couch for a moment to rest before Booker and Nile would be coming over in a few hours. But as he walked further into the apartment he stilled, taking it in - and raised his hand to his mouth. Half of Joe’s apartment was bare. Every other shelf empty, every other surface stripped of nick knacks, and the art supplies. Hell, even some chairs by his bookshelf were now gone. If it didn’t look so clean Nicky might have thought he’d been robbed.  
  
Joe came up behind him, wrapping a warm arm around his torso, and even though he was still processing the view Nicky’s body subconsciously sank back against his, “Yusuf - when, how? Why?” 

Joe leaned his head down, pressing a soft kiss on his neck before resting his chin on his shoulder, “When - in the mornings, before work. How - because I had less stuff than you - “  
  
Nicky scoffed, and turned around in his embrace, but Joe looked down at him so sweetly he couldn’t begrudge him the comment . . . “As for why - simple, I love you and I wanted half of you to be evident all over this apartment.”  
  
Would Nicky ever be able to not get flustered at such sweet words? Probably not. Joe’s voice was soothing, his words poetic, and he dipped his face forward until he could press his lips against his. But it was downright chaste to what Joe was probably looking for, but that’s only because Nicky could keep better track of the time and pulled back when Joe tried to deepen it, “I should start working on dinner before Booker and Nile get here.”  
  
Joe grunted in frustration, and only hugged him closer, “But that’s in three hours - you don’t always have to make a three course meal Nicolo. Let’s enjoy each other, we can always order pizza.”  
  
Nicky pressed against him, and when Joe raised his head, he cupped his face. Joe looked down at him so tenderly, utterly unprepared for Nicky’s reply, “American pizza is blasphemy and you should respect my heritage better.” 

Joe looked stunned for a moment, until Nicky’s mouth began to curl into a smirk, and they both laughed, “Fine - I relent, go change into your favorite cooking outfit and spend three hours in the kitchen while I have to imagine all sorts of naughty things.”  
  
But Nicky merely turned on his heel, Joe did bring out his playful side, and headed to his - well, now _their_ bedroom. It was the same in there, half his bedroom empty, too. God, how he loved this man . . . Joe stayed behind in the living room, already unpacking Nicky’s box labeled for the space, and stacking items on the empty shelves. Nicky could always rearrange later if he didn’t like it. Right now though, he was looking for the casual jeans and tshirt he tended to wear when he was cooking. A simple, plain, stained outfit that if the apron didn’t catch things, wouldn’t really matter. He had packed into his suitcase which was on Joe’s bed - but now as he was digging for it he couldn’t find it. _Cazzo_ \- he must have accidentally packed it up in the clothes boxes, but there were at least three of them, “Yusuf - can I borrow a pair of your jeans?”  
  
“Sure,” came the simple reply from the other room, and Nicky walked over to the closet (which was half empty, too. Where the hell did Joe find the energy?). He had borrowed sweats before, so he didn’t have a reason to assume the jeans wouldn’t fit, but Joe tended to wear the slimmer cuts, and as Nicky began to raise the legs over his thighs he realized they wouldn’t budge past the lower end of his butt, and he felt horribly self conscious for a moment.   
  
He was already trying to hurriedly slip them down, when Joe rounded the bathroom door to ask him where he wanted a certain item. Nicolo almost slipped as he tried to unroll one leg down his thigh, “I uh - they don’t fit.”  
  
Whatever Joe’s reaction was, Nicky couldn’t tell, he kept his head down as he began to refold the pants in his nervous hands. Joe merely stepped forward and took them, flinging them on the bathroom counter unceremoniously. Then he leaned against it, widening his legs to pull Nicky between them, “I like that they don’t fit.”  
  
Nicky’s hands were curled against Joe’s firm chest, and he shook his head at his words, because he definitely wasn’t following, “I don’t think I get your meaning.”  
  
Joe only pulled him closer, not even attempting to hide the effect he was having against Nicky’s hip bone. His hands rested on his waist, and he bit his lip as if he was trying to control himself, “I might not be able to change you feeling self conscious about your legs Nico, but feel what the mere sight of those thick thighs do to me.”  
  
For a second he stilled, worried, “So you think they’re fat?”  
  
Joe’s eyes widened, his fingers digging into the skin, “What, no - _not at all_ . I mean thick as in all muscle. Your thighs are beautiful to me - haven’t you’ve been peeking in my sketch pads?”  
  
Nicky looked down and smirked, “Only peeks - they look a little pornographic.”  
  
“Hm, I only draw the things we do, is it porn if it’s from memory?” 

Nicky shook his head, not even sure how to answer that, but feeling relieved Joe didn’t think he was fat. Not that _he_ did really, but Joe’s legs were a little slimmer, if not by much. But he wasn’t lost in the thought long, because Joe’s hands roamed from his waist, down to his butt, gripping a cheek in each firm grip, “And this ass Nico, don’t _ever_ think you should lose it.”  
  
Now Nicky laughed, and tried to push away because he really _did_ have to get working on dinner, and Joe was getting far too carried away, “Yusuf, take a shower, and I promise when everybody leaves you can have me and my ‘thick thighs’ all night, okay?”  
  
Joe relented, but with a pout, “Fine, but I have no idea how you can do the whole delayed gratification thing so easily.”  
  
“I’m Catholic,” Nicky teased then pressed away, stuck in boxers and a shirt that he was just going to have cook in - if he got messy, he could always hop in the shower just before Booker and Nile arrived.  
  
He turned to head back out towards the kitchen, and could hear Joe cursing in Arabic as he turned on the shower.  
  
 _Two hours later . . ._  
  
Boxes were still lining one of the walls in Joe’s hallway, and tomorrow they’d need to bring up some of Nicky’s furniture from the storage unit, but otherwise, the apartment was pretty much a mish mash of eclectic traits throughout. Joe had unpacked as many as he could, huffing about how he needed to keep his hands busy so Nicky could concentrate on prepping and cooking the food which Nicky _did_ appreciate (even if he also found it slightly amusing that _he_ was able to get Joe so riled up by literally doing nothing more than just cooking in his boxers).   
  
Booker and Nile would be arriving in about twenty minutes, and Nicky placed the food in the oven to bake while he untied his apron to go put on some clothes from the suitcase. Hanging it on the hook, he passed their little home altar area and said a silent prayer of thanks, reminding himself to say a house blessing after their guests left that night. Because he doubted he’d remember once Joe had him in the bedroom (though he didn’t mind that idea . . . ).   
  
But Nicky _did_ freeze when he rounded the corner and saw Joe standing on the ladder near his large flat screen. There they were - both his longsword, and Joe’s scimitar - hanging parallel above the tv, “When - when did you grab your sword from the office?”  
  
Joe was finishing the last adjustment then moved his hands to grab onto the top rung of the ladder, “Yesterday, I thought they’d look good beside one another, what do you think?”  
  
He was climbing down the steps, as Nicky took in the sight, unsure how to explain how perfect it looked, “Yusuf - I - I don’t even know what to say.”  
  
Nicky felt his warm hand taking his, and pulling him into a hug so they could stand there together, looking at them for a moment, “I want you to feel at home here Nico - this place is half yours, and I wanted to display us both proudly.”  
  
Nicky closed his eyes, wishing they had a little more time after all - before blinking away at the emotions threatening to spill out, “You are very thoughtful _amore mio_.”  
  
Joe leaned down, giving him a gentle kiss, “It’s easy to do with you.”

God, if Joe didn’t propose soon, he might just end up doing it for him . . .  
  
Sure enough, twenty minutes later, just on time, Booker and Nile arrived and Joe buzzed them up - Nicky had just emerged from the bathroom when they had finished hanging up their jackets, and Nile instantly greeted him with a warm hug, “Oh Nicky it smells _so_ good in here. What are you making tonight?”

“Baked ziti for the main course, it should be ready in about another thirty minutes - and there’s homemade gelato for dessert, that took far longer than I was expecting, but I think it’ll be worth it.”  
  
Nile wrapped an arm around his and smiled, “One of these days you should let me record you giving a cooking lesson, you’re so sweet and endearing, I bet you’d have quite a few followers on YouTube. Especially with Joe hovering in the background, you two are so cute together.”  
  
Nicky felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks, but managed to keep it at bay, “Thanks Nile, that’s kind of you to say.”

Blissfully Joe stepped into the space with Booker, keeping his hands on his friend's shoulder, and beaming, “I am just excited to watch a game with this guy - who _yay_ , isn’t going to jail!”   
  
Nile rolled her eyes, and Booker smirked, shaking his head, “You and me both _mon ami_.”  
  
They had learned days ago that Booker’s proposed deal by his lawyer had been accepted in exchange for his testimony. But Booker wasn’t shy about sharing that he also was going to have to return a large sum of the money Merrick had given him as well “as evidence”. He explained that he didn’t mind though, because he basically had been living off that money for the last two years - and pocketing his legitimate salary in an interest accruing account. Basically, Booker would be able to take some time to figure out what he wanted to do next . . . and it was fairly obvious to everyone that what he wanted to do next was be with Nile.

Even after they had finished dinner, when Booker settled in front of the tv for the game, he reached for Nile to give her a chaste (well, for him) kiss before she planned on dipping into the bedroom with Nicky to watch a movie and eat their gelato. Joe for his part, who was still dishing his own bowl alongside Nicky in the kitchen spotted them and joked about getting a spritzer to cool them down. Nile pulled back giggling, and Booker ignored him completely, too enthralled by Nile’s laugh to really care to respond.  
  
Nicky picked up his bowl to head into the bedroom, but felt Joe’s hands on his waist stopping him. He pressed his body close, and Nicky hoped that neither Booker nor Nile were looking back at them, “Yusuf - “  
  
“Were you really going to leave without kissing me goodbye?,” his eyes sparkled and his voice teasing with a sly smile.  
  
Nicky, once he realized Booker and Nile were still lost in each other in the large chair, felt a little more comfortable to tease right back without the audience, “I’m only going into the other room, for two hours.” Then he turned in Joe’s embrace, leaning his head onto his shoulder, speaking quietly just in case he could be heard, “Besides, you’ll have me all to yourself the rest of the night.”  
  
“Mm,” Joe dipped his head down, nuzzling against Nicky’s neck, “Now you’re just teasing me - you better kiss me now before I kick them out and forget all about this game.”  
  
Nicky _thought_ he was just kidding, but not wanting to take the risk, he gave Joe a far too quick peck and dashed off with the bowl before he could pull him back in. He saw Nile from the corner of his eye following behind him, and after she passed through the threshold closed the bedroom door and raised the cold bowl to his flushed cheeks.  
  
Nile chuckled, raising an eyebrow, “I’m guessing living with Joe is going well?”  
  
Nicky closed his eyes, but smiled, “Very.”

Nile laughed lightly, and they both got comfortable on the bed. It didn’t take them long to finish the desert, placing the dishware on the nightstand, but neither really cared for the movie they were watching. Though it was Nile who reached for the remote and turned off the tv, “It’s bullshit.”  
  
“The movie?”  
  
“What? No the crap with Merrick.” _Oh_ , Nicky thought, _yeah, that_. Nicky and Nile seemed to be the ones most upset by Andy's update of the latest meeting several days earlier, while the others were just trying to move forward, feeling like their hands were tied. Without direct evidence of Merrick’s involvement, it seemed like he would likely be getting away with it. 

Nicky folded his hands in his lap, glad Nile felt comfortable enough to talk to him about it, because he was pretty sure Joe just wanted to be in la la land about him moving in (and definitely not talk about Merrick one more time), and appreciated the opportunity to share some of his thoughts with her in return. But first he let her finish hers, “He’ll be investigated sure, maybe some of his money will be seized, but nothing else? Hell, he might get to keep the museum for years while lawyers drag this out. It’s really unfair.”  
  
Nicky sighed, a little resigned, “I wish people would take Copley’s and Booker’s word for it - though I understand why they might have a hard time with that -” He stopped realizing how that might sound, especially to Nile, like Booker was untrustworthy, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to -”  
  
She rested a hand on his arm for a moment, “It’s okay Nicky - even Booker gets it. He’s just glad that when DHS swoops down, he can leave.”  
  
Nicky, curious, raised his head, “He’s not leaving before then?”  
  
Nile sank back further against the pillow on the bed, “Well I might have suggested for him to stick around and see if Merrick hangs himself with some irrefutable evidence.”  
  
“Hm, I doubt it,” Nicky joined her, feeling a little defeated, “I had access to all those documents, and I never saw anything that made me think it went past Booker - “  
  
“ _Saw anything_ ,” Nile repeated his words slowly, before leaping up, “ . . . Nicky you’re a genius.”  
  
Nicky cocked an eyebrow, “Uh why?”  
  
“ _Saw anything_ \- the security tapes,” she waved her hands like it was obvious, but Nicky really wasn’t following, “What if there’s recordings of Merrick barking orders from his office?”  
  
Nicky rumeated on that idea for a moment, thinking out loud, “But if he had swiped Booker’s time in the archive room, why wouldn’t he swipe the cameras in his office?”  
  
“Maybe because he thinks he’s too good to be caught?” Nile countered, which was a fair point, “Do you have access to the security office in the basement?”  
  
Nicky looked up at her, a little confused, “Technically, yes - but how would I get inside to check tapes, and recordings?”  
  
Nile seemed downright excited, “I’m great with computers, if we could get in there, I can give you a program to upload on their harddrive. Five minutes tops. You come back out and I could upload everything they have onto a cloud server and we could take our sweet time seeing if Merrick hangs himself.”  
  
Nicky shrugged his shoulders, finding the idea interesting, but still self preservation was a bitch to kick, “And if I’m caught?”  
  
“Well you _are_ the insurance guy, make up some excuse about hearing an alarm going off so you went to ask them about it, and _whoops_ the office was empty - and then just bow out. No one would suspect a sweetheart like you could be up to no good.”  
  
Nicky chuckled, “Then that’s their fault for lack of critical thinking skills. Because I’ll do it.”  
  
“Really? You will?”  
  
Nicky nodded, “If there’s a chance that Merrick can be held accountable, then yes let’s - it’s the right thing to do.”  
  
Nile raised her eyebrows, leaning closer, “Even if you’re technically breaking a law or two?”  
  
Nicky lifted himself up on his elbows, “He broke them first - and so much more - I won’t feel bad about pirating computer files so he can’t anymore.”  
  
“ _Damn_ Nicky, you’re like a social justice warrior - should we bring your sword?”  
  
“No,” he laughed, as he turned to his side, “but let’s go over exactly how and when, because I’d like to go in with a plan.”  
  
“Sure,” she folded her hands over her knees, and looked towards the closed door, “but what about the others, should we tell them?”  
  
Nicky looked down, weighing the idea for a brief moment, “I feel bad about lying, but no I don’t think so. They seem resigned to just accept it for what it is, and would probably try to talk us out of it.”  
  
Nile pulled her legs a little closer to her chest, “A mission just for us then?”  
  
Nicky rolled back onto the pillow behind him, smiling, “A five minute mission - sure.”  
  
“Alright we won’t tell them,” Nile sounded resolved, certain, “ . . . and ask for forgiveness later.”  
  


* * *

**January 27th - Merrick Museum**   
  


It was a simple plan. Nicky would wait for the day that Keane wasn’t working (though the other security guards were fairly burly men as well, they had sticks and tasers, but not a gun like Keane did). They’d also wait after hours, when there would be only two guards on duty, and the museum fairly empty. Nicky would keep Nile in his office, and then she’d sneak onto the main floor and throw something towards the gallery wall that would set off the alarm. Nicky would be waiting in the basement around the corner from the security room, and as soon as the guards left to check, he’d sneak in. Nile would race downstairs, and be his look out in case things got dicy because hey, she did take those two years of self defense classes (but she hoped she could sweet talk them first). By the time the guards investigated and returned to the room, they’d be done, and out of there.  
  
It was a simple, fail proof plan.  
. . . And then it all went to shit fast.  
  
The alarm was still going off above them, while Nile was standing near the corner, sheltered behind some storage shelving. The security room door was open, and likely Nicky was downloading the program. She checked her phone, reloading the screen for updates, but it hadn’t cleared yet. Her heart rate was already going fast from racing down up and down two flights of stairs, and she willed herself to breathe and stay calm - even when the alarm stopped. _Come on Nicky,_ come on _Nicky. Let’s go._  
  
She reloaded it again, and saw the program _had_ been successfully linked and was starting to download access to the hard drive's memory. _Yes!_ It would take hours to finish, but it was linked and now Nicky could hurry up and walk out of there. _Like now, Nicky. Get out of there._

“Nile? What are you doing here?,” Nile whipped around to see Joe. _Joe?!_  
  
“I - why are _you_ here?” 

She must have looked frazzled, because Joe’s usual calm demeanor seemed worried, “Nicolo said he was working late, so I was surprising him with dinner - I just dropped it off in his empty office and went to look for him - and where is Nico?”  
  
Nile gnawed at her bottom lip, trying to hurriedly explain because Joe’s worry was quickly turning into frustration, “I - we, were just trying to download some files, and he’s right over there in the security office, and I set off the alarm so the guards are upstairs but -”  
  
Joe didn’t respond, worried _and_ now angry it seemed - as he started heading down the hall, and Nile followed right behind him, “No Joe, they could be here any moment, Nicky will come out it’s going to be fine.”  
  
Joe didn’t even look over his shoulder as he responded, “I’m not letting him get into trouble all on his own Nile.”  
  
Nile froze, not only at Joe’s words, but also because she could hear the elevator doors opening. She ducked back behind the shelving unit, because maybe the original plan _could_ still work. Joe would look confused, Nicky could act sheepish like he was lost or something. This didn’t have to end badly? _Ah, there’s Nicky’s shadow_ , she could see it extending out the doorway, _he must be walking out now._ _  
_  
Maybe if they had had another thirty seconds it would have worked.

It _could_ have worked. But it didn’t.   
  
Nicky had barely made it to the threshold, pausing when he saw Joe closing in. She couldn’t make out their words, but Nicky looked about as guilty as Nile felt. Joe hadn’t reached him yet though - just a few steps away, when the two guards came from the opposite end of the hallway. Which didn’t make sense. If they were down the hallway, who was using the elevator?  
  
The two guards pointed at Nicky, and then _shoved_ him back into the room. Joe looked like he was about to lose his mind, shouting something as Nile was crouched down watching - trying to figure out if she should run towards them and diffuse the situation. She could figure this out, she could do this! She stood up, ready to wing it, ready to help - even when the two guards took one of Joe’s arms each and shoved him into the room as well. If the guards had suspected that Joe and Nicky were up to no good, that was one thing, but they were manhandling them far too roughly. _This is all getting way out of hand_ .  
  
But she froze when none other than Keane appeared from the dark hallway.   
  
She hurriedly hid again, he hadn’t seen her, she was fifty feet away from them. But even at that distance, she could see the devious smile on his face. Like he caught a mouse in a trap. And that’s when she realized that he must have known what they were doing tonight ( _though God, how?_ ). Maybe Nicky downloading his schedule all the time? Maybe Nile, Nicky, Joe and Booker having lunch together in the cafeteria several times these last few weeks? Maybe Keane had enough brain cells to put it together, “Restrain them already!”  
  
He had shouted over Joe’s protests, though because Joe wasn’t being nearly as loud, she couldn’t make out his reply.   
  
_Shit, shit, shit._   
  
Keane had one hand resting on his gun, she definitely couldn’t tackle him. And then he walked through the doorway, slamming the door behind him. _Fuck._  
  
Were they about to be arrested? Crap, she was going to jail tonight - because no way would she leave. She’d wait for the police to show up, explain, and take responsibility for this. It was her plan after all. She didn’t _want_ to be restrained in a room with Keane, but she also wouldn’t leave Joe and Nicky alone. Nile resigned, emerged from the hideout and began to walk towards the room. Surely the cops were already on the way . . .  
  
“Don’t fucking touch him!”  
  
Joe’s voice was muffled behind the door, but emerging from the room clearly enough now that she had moved closer. She stilled, scared by the anger at his voice, and what was happening in the room to make him shout _that_ .  
  
Then what sounded like a - slap? “Yusuf!”  
Oh God, Nicky sounded panicked.   
  
More noises, like a struggle - and then a crash, like someone falling . . . _oh shit, shit shit -_  
  
Fuck she couldn’t fight three men with weapons.   
And Joe and Nicky were restrained . . . 

There was another slap sound, and then she heard Keane’s voice - which sounded eerily calm, if a little breathless, “Let’s have some fun boys.”

And that’s when Nile knew, with a horrible foreboding feeling, that the cops weren’t coming.  
  


* * *

**NOTES:** AHHHHHHHH CLIFFHANGERRRRRRRR!!!! You guysssss I had planned to tie this security breech into this story from the very beginning to give it some cannon feels, but still it was hard to write because we all just want domestic fluff I know!! I hope you stick around for the finalllee! Then epic, fan service epilogues :D  
  
On a happier note . . . Was I inspired by _Fifty Shades Darker_ morning after scene, to make Nicky smile watching Joe work out, AND that gifset on Tumblr someone made of Luca watching Marwan working out? (AND the discord of Joe wanting to DISCUSS NICKY’S THIQ THIGHS???) Because once again for the people in the back - this fic is fan service?? **YUPPERS.**  
  
And I was inspired by Booker doing yoga after reading wolfshavenokings’ “ [ The King Sized Elephant ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389735/chapters/64281748) ” :) Credit where credit’s due!  
  
As always, comments and kudos feed me <3   
Tell me what you'd love to see in the next chapter, and in the epilogues - it might just make it in ;)


	10. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a showdown at the museum and desperate measures are taken . . . but no worries, all's well that end's well :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, here it is, our grand finale!! The most canon-like part of this whole fic :)  
> I’ll write a more expansive notes in the end note portion because I know y’all are itching to see what happens next - but please be aware there is violence in this chapter (I don’t think it’s gratuitous, but I figured I’d mention it!) 
> 
> Though y’all know how I love to separate chunks into one character’s POV at a time - the soft epilogue at the end flows between them all to wrap things up :) AND there’s a little author commentary at the end as well ~
> 
> Alright, alright, let’s get on with it <3

_"I loved you completely. And you loved me the same. That's all. The rest is confetti." - Nell Crain_   
  


* * *

**_January 27th - Merrick Museum - Nicky’s Office_ **  
  
When Joe had pushed open the door to Nicky’s office, he was surprised to find no Nicky in sight. He had hoped to surprise him with some Italian food from the local restaurant (which _of course_ Nicky cooked better, but Joe was trying to be romantic since he said he had to work late tonight). He thought they could share it while Nicky told him about his day, and if anything, he’d sketch a bit while he finished up paperwork. 

Joe managed to wait a few minutes before texting Nicky, wondering if maybe he was in the Archive room. But when his cell phone buzzed in his desk drawer, Joe got a funny feeling. Something in his gut didn’t sit right, and he headed down the hall towards the bathroom checking each stall before deciding to walk to the archive room - trying to convince himself Nicky simply forgot his phone. That he was probably overreacting. And feeling a bit sheepish for probably being a little too much right now ( _too clingy or something_ ). He should just let Nicky work in peace. 

Then again Nicky said he _liked_ how much Joe hovered - that he’d been alone for so long, that he _craved_ Joe’s presence. _‘Even sitting in the silence together feels peaceful’_ , Nicky had once murmured when he looked up from a book to see Joe sketching quietly. If anything, Nicky would have looked up from his office desk and told Joe how thoughtful he was for bringing him dinner. No, his empty office and cell phone in his drawer just felt off - though Joe wasn’t exactly sure what to label this uneasy feeling . . .  
  
When Joe rounded the corner he saw none other than Nile crouching behind some shelving which was downright odd, and only confirmed his concerns. After she rambled through why she was there (and where Nicky was) Joe felt both pissed at being lied to, and a strong urge to find Nicky before he really got himself in trouble. He ignored Nile’s pleas, not ready to talk to her yet. He knew better, that Nicky was responsible for his own decisions, but Nile had encouraged this and felt it better not to respond to her just yet - not until his emotions were better in check, not until Nicky was safe.  
  
He couldn’t get to the room soon enough, and when Nicky emerged, they almost bumped into each other, “Yusuf - “

Joe couldn’t fake anything but stoicism and disappointment, not even to spare Nicky’s feelings, “Nico why?”  
  
He looked incredibly guilty, and sullen, “I - Nile and I thought that we could - “

Joe found Nicky not registering what he was referring to almost more painful, “No, not that - you lied to me.” But his anger began to seep out of him, revealing a sadness that Nicky’s eyes softened at, “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing tonight?”  
  
Nicky took one step closer, hoping to explain, but certainly not denying the seriousness of what he had done, “Yusuf I thought you would try to talk me out of it, I’m so sorry - it’s not an excuse though - I - “  
  
Joe thought Nicky was holding himself back, like maybe he was worried he hurt him so bad that he wouldn’t want to be touched by him right now - and even though they would need to talk about this, he couldn’t let Nicky fidget with the hem of his sweater to the point of unspooling the fabric. His nerves looked a little shaken, and Joe was just about to say something - when two guards emerged from the dark. 

Joe and Nicky looked up at the intrusion, the two strangers approaching quickly. 

One of them bellowed ominously, “Caught you.“ 

Before Joe could process what they had just said, the second guard _shoved_ Nicky back into the room, who stumbled awkwardly into the dark space. 

Joe just about saw red. His hands instantly curled into fists, ready to yell, ready to _scream_ , shouting at them for having _dared_ to touch his Nicolo in the first place - but he was so stunned by the action, that even a moment’s hesitancy allowed them the upper hand and they grabbed one arm each and pushed him into the room as well (an almost plain gray room filled with metal and cameras and electronics).  
  
He instantly went towards Nicky, ready to reach for him, check to make sure he was okay - but Joe was jerked back. Spun around by a firm grip on his shoulders, and faced with Keane at the doorway. He hadn’t officially ever met the man, much less talked to him, but Booker, Nicky and Nile all pointed him out one day when they were sharing lunch in the cafeteria. They didn’t go into details, but their tone was clear - _steer clear of the man_ . Except now here he was. Practically taking up the entire doorway, and looking downright devious. Joe wouldn’t hesitate again, not even with Keane . . . “I don’t know what you think is happening here, but we are leaving right now - “  
  
“Restrain them already!” came Keane’s immediate response with a loud, booming voice, and Joe’s eyes widened. Shocked, unsure if he really could fathom what he had just said - _restrain for what?_ _Wait_ , Nile and Nicky said something about the computer files, had they been caught doing that? He had been so focused on how Nicky was doing - who was so, so quiet right now - that he had forgotten all about why he had been in the security room to begin with.   
  
Keane slammed the door behind him, and Joe could feel his chest tightening because this didn’t seem right. Knew the look in his eyes wasn’t just about calling the cops on Nicky. Knew that they were in far more serious trouble than either could comprehend right now. And he really didn’t like that with the two guards still holding firmly onto Joe, Keane seemed to focus _all_ his attention on Nicky. When he began to walk over to Nicky, pulling out zip ties from a back pocket, Joe jerked against the firm grasp though he couldn’t get out from under it, “Don’t fucking touch him!”  
  
Keane didn’t even blink, just looked up at Joe and backhanded him so quick, his head flung to the side - his neck feeling immediately sore.

“Yusuf!” _shit_ , Nicky sounded panicked, and Joe willed himself to look back at him, wanting to tell him it was okay - but he didn’t even know if he could lie to him like that. Joe would do anything for Nicky - _anything_ \- but they were outnumbered, and overpowered, and Joe couldn’t tell him it was going to be ok, because he didn’t even know if it would be. Nicky looked guilt ridden, but how could he have known? Joe just wanted to reach him, separated only by a few feet, but so firmly kept apart that it might as well have been miles.  
  
Maybe it was because Joe couldn’t feign optimism in the moment, maybe it was because Nicky thought he had to - but whatever the reason, he tried rushing towards Joe. However Keane was too fast, and slapped Nicky even harder than he had Joe, way too hard - like he was _trying_ to hurt him. The force jerked him to the side, and Nicky landed against the keyboards, his head slamming into the electronics - a horrible bounce, before he slumped to the floor. Unconscious.

Joe’s mouth went slack, like he wanted to scream, but there was a tightness in his throat that prevented any sound from escaping. He was so stunned by what happened for a moment, that he couldn’t even register the guards ziptying his wrists together in front of him. Just watching Nicky’s body lying there, willing him to wake up with his silent, panicked gaze. 

But when their grip had loosened now that he was restrained, Joe sank to the floor, right onto his knees. Carefully moving towards Nicky (worried any sudden movements would make Keane attack him while he was down) . . . but every second, every minute, every inch closer made Joe’s head pound. Nicky _still_ hadn’t moved and a horrible sinking feeling dulled his senses - what if Keane had hit him too hard? What if he wasn’t waking up?   
  
If the guards were saying anything at this point, Joe didn’t register it. His singular focus was crawling towards Nicky. Desperately needing to know he was alright. He couldn’t even fathom if he wasn’t. No, he had to be okay, _he has to be_ . It surely only took half a minute, but for Joe, he might as well have crawled through glass. His heart bleeding at the possibilities that swirled through his head. He reached forward with his tied hands, carefully moving a strand away from Nicky’s face to tuck behind his ear, as if they were still in bed like this morning. A gentle wake up call, because he was okay, right? _Right?_ “Nicolo, wake up. Wake up.”  
  
“Get back,” one of the guards shouted.  
  
Nicky still hadn’t stirred, what were they really going to do, slap him some more? Who the fuck cared now? Joe had _one_ objective, and how _dare_ they interrupt him, “What are you going to do kill me?”

The other guard didn’t respond right away. Couldn’t they see how desperate he was, how much he needed Nicky to wake up right now? 

And thank gosh, maybe hearing Joe’s voice so close helped, but Nicky stirred with a groan - and Joe released a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding - “I’m here, I’m here.”  
  
Joe tried to get closer, desperate to make sure he didn’t have any injuries, desperate to tell him how much he loved him, _desperate, desperate, desperate_ . . . but he was yanked back by his shoulder roughly - “I said ‘get back’!”

His heart felt in his throat, and since anger hadn’t worked, Joe looked up at the guard, pleading, “I need to know he’s okay.”

Keane was now hoisting Nicky up on the floor to a seated position - but his eyes remained closed, wincing in pain from the move - though he had no obvious injuries that Joe could see. Yet before Joe could rejoice in that - the other guard teased, “Aw that’s sweet - what is he your boyfriend?”

Nicky had just begun to register his surroundings again, and had looked up to the guard as well - but as soon as he had made his comment, he sighed with exasperation. 

And Joe couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take the possibility of Nicky being attacked again, going unconscious again, without telling him everything. Without telling the world how much Nicky meant to him. With Nicky looking away, Joe addressed the guard first, “You’re a child. This man is more to me than you can dream.” The guard froze, though even if he had tried to interrupt, Joe would have continued. It needed to be said, he would have screamed it over their protests if he had to, “He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. And his kiss will thrill me for all my days.” 

Joe’s voice sounded a little strained already - but how could it not? They saw Nicky as some thief to be restrained, to punish, they had _no_ idea who he was. This man who embraced Joe completely, and loved him with a tenderness that Joe matched with his intensity. Nicky who was _so_ thoughtful that even when he didn’t think he’d belong in their little family - got matching keychains for the rest of them as a Christmas present. Who worked his way through his entire syllabus to get to know Joe better, and ask him questions, before he ever thought he could be loved by him. Nicky who cooked expansive, home cooked meals for something as mundane as a soccer game, as a silent act of love for all who came to their home. This man who Joe should have _known_ would have done anything to make sure Merrick never abused the system again. Because that’s who Nicky was - _kindness personified_ : “His heart overflows with a kindness of which this world is not worthy of.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nicky watching him with hazy eyes, and Joe felt emotional as he tried to say the very words he was saving for his proposal. The one he planned to do at the conservatory where he told Nicky he loved him for the first time - where Nile was going to take pictures to commemorate the moment, “I love this man beyond measure and reason. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my partner. This is the man who I will tie myself to in all ways.” He could barely finish, his breath staggering, his heart beating furiously. And he needed to steady himself - so finally Joe looked at Nicky, tears pooling in his eyes, while Nicky’s jaw clenched, “He’s all and he’s more.”

And then with one final shuddering breath, Joe asked, “Marry me Nico.”

Nicky didn’t even bat an eye, smiling back at him, with watery eyes “You’re an incurable romantic.” 

And then he lifted himself forward, and finally - _finally_ \- Joe could reach him, and he cupped Nicky’s cheek with his bound hands, while Nicky pressed their lips together. He smiled against them, hoping that meant ‘yes’. He’d ask him later, he reasoned. Joe just wanted to get lost in the embrace for one more moment.  
  
But that very second they were angrily pulled apart in opposite directions by the three men.

**Merrick Museum - Booker’s Office** **  
**  
Booker was trying to avoid glancing at the clock _again_ . Nile had said she was going to be busy tonight, so he figured he’d catch up on paperwork (of the legal kind). According to his lawyer, things were supposed to be going belly up any day now, but _if_ Merrick or Keane suspected anything - neither seemed to treat him any differently. So for now Booker planned on staying focused with shuffling papers around until the day came. 

But it had been a while since he had stayed late at the office. He hadn’t really had a reason to for the last four weeks . . . and he found himself terribly distracted by the fact that even with her busy schedule, Nile usually liked to check in with him around this time. Usually just a quick text about dinner options, or if she was going to meet him at her apartment, or his. But his phone had been oddly silent for hours now. _Hm_ . Maybe she’d FaceTime before she went to bed . . .  
  
The sun had just set, the museum had been closed for awhile, and though he thought he heard one of the gallery alarms going off on the first floor for a minute - there was no IM notification of any sort of security breach, so he ignored it assuming a new trainee or custodian bumped against something. Now that his office was dark even with the desk lamp, Booker figured he’d get going and maybe he’d shoot Nile a good night text as he headed out -  
  
He had just finished shutting down his computer when his office door flew open so hard it actually _banged_ against the wall. Booker’s eyes shot up quickly, genuinely startled - and surprised to see none other than Nile in the doorway. He should have been happy to see her, but the sheer panic in her face made him overcome his initial shock, bolting straight towards her. He came around the desk, while she shook her head, clinging to her phone. Booker feared she had been in some sort of accident by the way she was breathing hard, “Nile what - “  
  
“I - Seb I made a horrible mistake, please you have to help me.” 

His heart ached for how pained her voice sounded. So desperate and sad.  
  
“Of course, of course - what - “ he reached for her, and she practically collapsed against him. Arms around his waist, face pressed tightly against his chest. His concern was starting to shift to worry. And he squeezed her tight when he heard her sniffle against him, wetting his shirt from where her face rested. 

He couldn’t begin to fathom what had happened to get her this riled up, but when he was just about to ask, she spoke up, pushing herself through the tears, “I ran up here as quick as I could, I figured it’d be quicker than the elevator, but they need help - _now_ .”  
  
Booker pulled her back gently, one hand on each of her shaking shoulders, “Who?”  
  
“Joe and Nicky - “ she pleaded.  
  
Booker’s heart leapt, and he instantly felt a knot in his gut, “Have they been in an accident?”  
  
Nile shook her head, tears starting to spill out of her eyes, “No, no _worse_ \- “ _What could be worse_ , Booker thought, “Keane and some guards caught Nicky downloading files in the security room, and Joe walked in on it and now they’re both alone in there, and I think he’s - _I think he’s_ \- “  
  
Booker’s eyes narrowed, “Nile what is it - “  
  
Nile tried to blink through the tears, trying to ground herself, “ _Shit_ , I should have called the police on my way up here, I just thought you might still be here - and I just ran and _shit_ I shouldn’t have left them behind, but I didn’t know what else to do - .” She closed her eyes, grimacing, before looking up at him deadly serious, “but I think - I think they’re hurting them.”  
  
She cried harder, falling right back against his chest, and maybe that was a good thing - maybe seeing the anger on Booker’s face would have been too much for her nerves. Booker wished he could comfort her till her sniffling subsided, but he had to help his friends. He squeezed her one last time, with a gentle _sshh_ sound, before leaning back to lift her face between his hands. She looked so sad, and he carefully swiped at her tears with his thumbs, “I need you to stay here - “

Her eyes instantly shot up to him, pushing through the sadness, with firm resolution, “What, _no_ \- “

Booker widened his stance a little, trying to lower himself so he could be on her level, and really help her understand, “Nile, _please_ , I won’t be able to function if I’m worried about you.”

She was not having it, ready to push out of his firm hold, but he kept a firm grip, “Oh and I’m supposed to just _sit_ here, twiddling my thumbs - no Seb, I’m _coming_ \- “

He breathed through his nose, knowing he needed to get going, needed to help, “Dammit woman, I can’t help them, if I’m worried about you - _I love you_ \- do you get that?”  
  
Nile went silent, eyes wide, and Booker realized what he just confessed - out loud, on his way to try to save Joe and Nicky from whatever the Hell was happening downstairs. This probably wasn’t the moment for it, but he didn’t regret it. In fact, just in case she worried he said it carelessly he softened his tone and repeated it, surprisingly easy, “I love you.” Then he leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss before resting his forehead against hers, “ _Please_ , stay here.”

Nile shook her head, but she didn’t argue - didn’t say anything really. As if his confession was so unexpected, she was still trying to process it. Booker came up with an idea on the spot, and hurried to implement it before she regained her senses. He grabbed his phone and his keys from the desk, breezing by her as she tried to reach out. He was already at the door and putting the keys on the outdoor lock, when she started to walk towards him - but he didn’t give her a chance to speak, already beginning to close the door, “Please don’t be mad - “  
  
Then he slammed it shut, locking her in his office as she lunged for the door.  
She shook the handle, probably in disbelief, but her voice was as frustrated as he had ever heard it when she shouted against the frosted pane, “ _Sebastien Le Livre_ if you do not unlock this door _right_ now - “  
  
Booker felt horrible, but still relieved, because at least she’d be safe. He leaned against the door for one moment before pushing off to head down the hall, “I’ll be back as soon as I can _ma cherie_ .”

He could hear her shouting after him, “Do not ‘ma cherie’ me right now Seb! _Seb_!”

 _Ugh_ , he hoped she would forgive him eventually - but right now he needed to get down to the security room. Taking two steps at a time, he figured it was faster than the elevator, though he was still breathless by the time he reached the room. The _empty_ security room. _Merde_.  
  
He jogged down the hallway, and saw the elevator buttons indicating it was being used. And heading up. Now Booker knew _exactly_ where Keane was taking them, and he cursed at how the Hell he was going to help them. He weighed calling his lawyer, or hell even the cops - but how exactly was he going to report this? _‘Hi police? My sort-of-girlfriend is locked in my office and she said my friends are being beat up by guards.’_ Yeah, that didn’t sound made up or anything.   
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he raced towards the steps, and headed to Merrick’s office on the top floor.  
  


**Merrick Museum - Merrick’s Office**

Nicky really should try to work on his poker face, especially since these men (and most of all Keane) didn’t seem to have any qualms about using physical force, but how could he keep the smile at bay? Even surrounded by them from all sides, Nicky felt almost euphoric. They were riding on the slowest elevator on Earth, ascending to Merrick’s office, and for who knows what purpose - but Nicky was calm, and composed . . . and thank God. He had felt about every emotion in the last half hour: guilt for lying to Joe, guilt for being _caught_ lying to Joe (and _by Joe_ ), panic, fear, more guilt and frankly even embarrassment about blacking out for a moment. As best he could tell he didn’t have a drop of blood on him, just somehow managed to hit the right spot on his head to knock him out (and even now, he was dealing with quite the thumping headache).

But _now_ \- now Nicky felt settled, content, and dammit, _happy_ . Surely Joe would argue they weren’t _really_ engaged just yet. That he was desperate and afraid and wanted some sort of romantic do over, but Nicky had every intention of telling him ‘no’. Sure, he could have done without the guards and physical violence, but the words . . . the emotions, the feelings, the _love_ . No, nothing could top it. He would tell Joe ‘yes’ a thousand times over, so why wouldn’t the first one count the most?   
  
Even though he didn’t want to risk a reaction from the guards, they were all looking ahead, and Nicky glanced up cautiously to look at Joe who was separated from him by one guard standing between them. But Joe was already meeting his gaze, a soft crooked smile on his face - and winked at him. Assured as ever, beaming really. Sometimes looking at Joe was like staring into the sun, and Nicky felt brighter in his presence, shined on with radiant love. If Nicky was the moon to Joe, then Joe was the sun to him. 

_This is the love of my life_ , Nicky thought as the elevator stopped.

When the doors opened, they were guided by the guards across the hall to a set of double doors Keane knocked on once. Merrick’s voice sounded cheerful as he told them to come in, and Nicky genuinely wondered if the man was psychotic to sound so happy at the prospect of being handed two restrained men. The doors opened to his office, and Nicky and Joe were pushed inside unceremoniously.  
  
“Welcome, welcome -” Merrick greeted, then paused to look past them, “Keane, are the restraints really necessary?”  
  
Nicky and Joe didn’t falter. They had been shoved, slapped, pushed, and restrained - and short of Merrick joining in, they wouldn’t give any of these men the satisfaction of seeing them scared again. So long they were together, they would be okay . . .  
  
Keane took a step forward, seemingly confused, “You told me to bring them to you.”  
  
There was a shadow that passed over Merrick’s face, the slightest little tick that Nicky read as exasperation, before he pointed at Keane with his head to follow him to a corner of the room. The other two guards resumed their firm grip on Nicky and Joe, silently telling them to stay put - but neither had any plans to follow the quibble that Merrick and Keane were engaged in about ten feet away.   
  
It was curious to watch unfold though: Merrick and Keane whispering and agitated, and looking back at them every now and then. But frankly, the fact that they were taking this long to call the cops on Nicky, only confirmed what Nicky already suspected - they didn’t _want_ to involve the police. And the longer they held Joe and Nicky against their will, the more likely a kidnapping charge seemed to lurk in their future. The only possible card Merrick could have left to try, is buying them off. The man _did_ have enough money, but Nicky’s integrity was not for sale. And Joe had more dignity than that, he’d be downright offended if that was the route Merrick was hoping to use. 

Keane of course seemed ready to take them out back and shoot them.   
  
Luckily, he didn’t balk when Merrick told him to take them into his private side room . . . which Nicky smirked at before quickly losing it before they saw. Merrick’s side room was actually a panic room that Nicky had to help with in regards to the updated insurance paperwork. The man really was _that_ paranoid about who might want to hurt him, that he had it installed years ago. Nicky had never been in it, but then again, he’d only been in this office once, when he was first hired.

“Alright, set them up in there until I can figure out what we’re doing next.”  
  
Realizing that Keane was not actually going to be encouraged to lay another finger on them (for now), and that Merrick hoped to do damage control next, allowed some of the tension to drain away from Nicky and Joe . . . and they had _no_ problem being cocky about it when Keane pushed them along to the secured door, Joe giving his best _eat-shin_ -grin. Nicky followed Keane’s fingers as he punched in the security number, committing it to memory just in case.   
  
When the heavy metal door slowly swung open, it revealed a fifteen by fifteen room. Sleek, and cold, with plenty of chairs, table, entertainment center, even a wet bar. Keane pushed Joe forward but he merely grinned back at Merrick, “It’s a nice room.”

Keane looked ready to slap him, but Merrick made some sort of gesture that told him to stand down, so Nicky walked in ahead - hoping to further distract Keane by ignoring his macho attitude completely. Pausing at the door, he smiled, “There’s a tv, Joe.”  
  
Joe didn’t miss a beat, right behind him and looking around. Once he spotted the mini bar, he teased, “Champagne? We can celebrate our engagement.” Nicky tried to stifle the laugh, but he couldn’t help the flush that crept up on his face hearing Joe confirm their engagement.  
  
Of course the guards seemed annoyed, and shoved them towards the theater like chairs towards the left side of the room. Joe and Nicky were told to sit apart, but fuck if they’d listen to them at this point. Merrick told Keane to just use extra restraints if they had to, but who cared if they sat next to one another. 

At first he was miffed, but Keane seemed to recover as he took the guards handcuffs and tightened them around their ankles to the bolted down chairs. Seemingly _happy_ when Nicky winced at the unrelenting metallic grip.  
  
Nicky couldn’t wait till they left - to drop the facade for a moment and check in with Joe to see how he was really doing. But just as they had finished shuffling out, and right before Keane began to close the heavy door, none other than _Booker_ stormed into the office.  
  
From where they were seated, they couldn’t see him, but his voice was loud and clear, sounding a little frantic as he demanded to know where they were. Nicky and Joe gave each other a look, a silent agreement, before Joe shouted loudly for Booker.  
  
Nicky heard Booker’s feat shuffling towards them, but no way was Keane going to let that happen - and even though they couldn’t see him, they heard Booker grunt when he was (likely) hit by Keane to keep him from reaching them.  
  
Merrick sounded terrifyingly calm, if annoyed, “What are you even doing here Booker?”  
  
“They’re my friends,” he replied around a cough.  
  
Merrick chuckled, “Well your friends have put me in a bit of a bind, so I’m trying to see if they’d be willing to strike a deal.”  
  
Nicky could hear the slight shuffle, like Booker was being raised up to his feet, “They won’t.”  
  
Merrick moved closer, Nicky could see his back now through the crack of the door, “What makes you say that?”  
  
Booker didn’t hesitate, even if he did sound a little breathless, “They are men of worth - better than either of us put together. You can’t pay them off. So just let them go now.” Nicky didn’t have to look at Joe, he knew he was likely moved to tears by Booker’s kind words. Unfortunately Nicky’s headache was beginning to pound too much for him to truly appreciate it.  
  
Merrick was not deterred, sounding more annoyed by the minute, “Booker I don’t know where you got this sudden boost of confidence but it’s quite unbecoming. Now let’s just go and talk some sense into them, and go from there.”  
  
“Please don’t - “  
  
Merrick had already turned to head back towards Joe and Nicky, but he paused at Booker’s pleading and slowly looked back, “Please don’t _what_ ? Tell them what you’ve been up to lately? Well then I suggest you convince them to accept my gracious monetary offer not to get the cops involved, and then we’ll see about keeping your dirty little secrets.”  
  
Nicky realized that Merrick really didn’t seem to know that the feds were onto him. Or that they already knew what Booker had done. Even better, Booker came to the same conclusion, and was willing to play along to hopefully gain the upper hand by surprise. He had gone quiet for a moment, but then responded with a meek, “Okay.”  
  
Not even a moment later, Keane opened the heavy door all the way, and Booker walked in, looking downright sad at seeing Nicky and Joe - and in a way Nicky wanted to assure him they would be okay, but he also knew it was important to wait to see what happened next first.   
  
Merrick was right on his heels, confident and cocky in a way that made Nicky want to roll his eyes, but instead he just leaned his head back on the chair because dammit - it felt like the headache was beginning to turn into a migraine. Maybe he had a concussion.  
  
Once everyone was gathered into the small space, Nicky opened his eyes, but kept his head against the cushion. Really wishing Merrick’s voice wasn’t echoing against the vibrations inside his head, “I assume you might have overheard our little squabble, but allow me the opportunity to present some financial compensation for tonight’s theatrics that I think will benefit everyone - “  
  
Joe didn’t let him finish, lifting off against the chair as best as he could while restrained, “Go _fuck_ yourself.”  
  
Merrick blinked in confusion, then changed his tone a bit, addressing Nicky and Booker, “You’re my employees, and if you want to keep your job and the benefits that come with it - then I suggest you accept my generous offer.”  
  
Booker actually chuckled, “Consider this my two week notice then.” And when Merrick turned to look at him, Booker actually punched him right in the nose - it made a horrible crunching sound, and began to bleed immediately. Merrick screamed, stumbling back, and Keane hurriedly grabbed Booker by the throat, shoving him on the third seat, directly beside Nicky.  
  
Once secured, Keane helped Merrick stand up, but he shoved the bigger man away - trying to pinch his nose, but still it seeped something terrible. If Nicky didn’t feel like he was sinking into the ground from a (likely) head wound, he might actually feel sorry for the guy.

“Booker you son of a bitch! I have done nothing but make you rich, and I have never done anything to you Di Genova - still, betrayals all around - “ he slowly opened his eyes, as if adjusting to a new vision, “You both better brace yourselves, there will be consequences to this. Your time is coming.”  
  
Nicky narrowed his eyes, though they felt awfully heavy, “As is yours."

Joe would later say that Nicky’s response sent a chill down his spine for how calm he sounded - better than any loud _‘fuck you’_ he had planned on shouting . . . As for Merrick, he looked miffed, and refused to say anything else. Pushing past Keane in frustration, who followed quickly.  
  
But just as they began to close the door, Joe lifted his head and shouted, “Hey Merrick, it was nice to meet you - good luck with the feds!”  
  
Merrick looked shocked, but Keane simply closed the door, assuring his boss that Joe was just _talking out of his ass_ . Finally alone, Booker looked up at the ceiling, and smirked, “Now what?”  
  
Nicky closed his eyes to Booker and Joe laughing.

**Merrick Museum - Booker’s Office**

  
Nile was pacing like a lion ready to pounce. How dare that man confess he loves her, and _then_ lock her in his office like a child! She felt like she could crawl out of her skin, she was so pissed. No way was she going to let this pass - . . . even if she loved him, too. She paused, shaking her head, and biting her lip to prevent the smile, because she wasn’t going to be happy about his admission when she had something more important she needed to do first: like getting out of here . . . _but how?_  
  
Nile had been looking for something to pick the lock with for the last several minutes, when her phone chimed in her back pocket. Pulling it out, she debated calling the cops, and she really considered doing it - but then she saw the program had finished downloading and she was now connected to the live feed of the security cameras throughout the museum! Of course her and Nicky would need to go through the previous videos for evidence that were in the linked cloud, but now she could see in real time what was going on. She swiped at the screen, scanning through various camera feeds to see where Booker, Joe and Nicky were.  
  
But she felt like she was punched in the stomach when she saw the camera in Merrick’s office - the man was stumbling out of a room, nose bleeding, and Keane right behind him. There was no sign of Booker, Joe or Nicky, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out they were likely in the room a bloody Merrick had just come out of. She felt sick to her stomach at the idea of how badly injured _they_ could be if Merrick looked like _that._  
  
Nile didn’t have any more patience after that. A resolve washed over her, and she placed the phone back in her pocket and looked for the nearest heavy object - when she saw the dusty wine bottle gleaming back at her, she smirked: _it’s not like he’ll need that anymore_ .  
  
It felt oddly poetic to fling that stupid bottle through the office door pane - and though it made quite the piercing sound as it crashed to the floor on the other side, Nile didn’t care. She reached through the opening, careful to avoid cutting her skin on the shards, and freed herself easily enough. Then she raced down the hallway, looking for the smaller, second set of elevators that hopefully would be far enough away from Merrick’s office to be unnoticeable. She didn’t want to be stuck trying to catch her breath before storming his office.  
  
Of course as soon as the elevator doors closed, she took a few deep breaths, and began to think of exactly what she could do . . . she was outnumbered, Keane had a weapon. Likely all three men were restrained. No, she couldn’t just fly in there. She needed to cause a distraction. Sure, she could call the cops, but it would still take some time for them to get there (but at least with the camera feeds they had enough evidence for probable kidnapping and assault charges). She just needed to bide some time, and keep them safe till the cavalry came.  
  
When the elevator doors opened, Nile knew exactly what to do.  
  
Stepping out into the hallway, she pressed herself into the shadows and did her best to remain flush with the wall - Merrick’s office was open, but there was no sign of anyone. She just needed to get them out of the room, lock it and wait. That’s it. She could do this. When she saw the fire alarm box about halfway to the space, she smirked, and planned ahead to where she could duck when they came out. _One last deep breath_ \- then she pulled it and a large blaring alarm sounded immediately.   
  
She also broke the case for the fire ax, and briefly debated actually using it on the guards as they came rushing out to see where the fire was (but they weren't worth going to prison for) . . . but realized she could probably lure Keane and Merrick out by throwing it over the glass railing, and down onto the floor below where an exhibition was, to set off the security alarm as well. Her aim was good enough that she only hit the display corner, shattering the glass, a _second_ wailing alarm echoed against the fire alarm.  
  
Ducking quickly she smiled in the dark as Merrick barked orders into the hallway to see what the hell was going on.  
  
The two guards ran down towards the steps, and Keane and Merrick were walking slowly towards it, likely discerning how serious it was by leaning over the glass railings . . . it would be close, they were only about ten feet from the doors, but she had to take the risk. They didn’t hear her over the alarms until she already reached the door. She was swinging it closed to lock it from the inside as they shouted in unison, “There’s another one?!”  
  
It was a flimsy lock, Keane could probably kick it in within minutes and Nile spun around looking for Nicky, Joe, and Booker. When she didn’t see them in the office, she looked at the heavy metal door to her side - but it was closed - and there was a keypad that implied she couldn’t just turn the deadbolt on the outside to open it.  
  
Racing over to it, she banged against the metal, certain the alarms were muffling her cries, “Seb?! Nicky - Joe!?”  
  
When she heard Booker’s voice calling her name, she sank against the door for a moment relieved - then Merrick’s office door shook, likely from Keane trying to break in. She needed to hurry, but didn’t know what to do, “It’s locked, I ca-can’t get in!”  
  
Nicky shouted, “The code - 5768!”  
  
Nile plugged it in with shaky fingers, and heard several locks clicking - then the door pressed open on the hydraulics. 

Just in time for Merrick’s office doors to bang open, several splinters flying ahead of Keane who was half falling into the room. _Shit_ , he looked pissed. Merrick was right behind him, eyes wide, face bloody, and pointing at her - though who knew exactly what he had ordered (because two alarms were _still_ blaring) - but whatever it was couldn’t be good, and Keane began to jog towards her.  
  
Nile hurriedly squeezed through the opening, and slammed the metal door shut, locking it.

She hadn’t even turned around yet when Nicky yelled for her to hit the panic button near her eye level. She did immediately and the room flooded with a warm red light above her. Nile could hear Keane’s muffled banging against the metal, and some shouting, but the door didn’t budge, and she finally turned around.  
  
All three men were restrained, heads slightly raised from the seats as they looked at her both in surprise and wonder, “I - um, I hope the door holds?”  
  
Joe laughed as he flung his head back down, Booker looked downright proud, and Nicky gently smiled, “It will - the panic button from the inside scrambles the keypad code, so Merrick can try but nobody is getting in here now.” Then he closed his eyes, grimacing a little and put his head back down, “Plu-plus when you pressed it, it automatically sent out a distress signal to the police, so I’m guessing we’ll have all sorts of sirens here soon enough.”  
  
Nicky didn’t sound so good, his speech even slurring on the last word, and Nile stepped towards the bar looking for anything sharp to cut the restraints. Joe was telling Nile to _please hurry_ , and continued to call Nicky’s name, but he only mumbled and groaned in response. Booker asked if he had been injured, Joe mentioned he was knocked out for a few minutes and Nile closed her eyes, ready to cry. This was all her fault. She should never have suggested this.  
  
“Nile, _please_ \- cut me loose!” Joe pulled her focus back and she found a knife in a drawer. Within moments she cut Joe’s zip ties, and though his one ankle was still handcuffed to the chair leg, he was at least able to maneuver his body enough to reach Nicky’s upper body. He spoke so gently to Nicky, assuring him that help was coming, but Nicky was passed out unable to respond to Joe’s pleas.  
  
“ _Nile_ \- Nile come here,” Booker’s voice sounded far away and Nile realized she hadn’t cut Nicky’s zipties yet, or Booker’s. She walked over to him, and tried to tease, to tell herself she was okay - because if she could joke through this moment then it wasn’t so bad was it? It was a bad coping mechanism under duress.  
  
“Maybe I should leave you tied up for as long as you left me locked in your office?” she meant it to lighten the mood, but Booker only gave her serious look. Worse, concern etched all over his face, because her voice faltered, and her breath hitched before she even finished the sentence. She was supposed to be mad at this man - give him a tough time for _days_ even - but all she really wanted was for him to hold her, because yes, they were safe for the moment, but Nicky was hurt, and it was her fault . . .  
  
“Nile - come _here_ ,” Booker wasn’t asking this time. 

And Nile had no more resolve to fight the pull . . . she walked over to him, sitting in his lap, and carefully cut the zip ties around his wrist, before he took the knife from her shaky hands and handed it to Joe (who was more quiet in the last five minutes than she had ever known him to be).

Booker was looking up at her, she could feel his eyes on her, but she watched Joe cutting through Nicky’s zip ties, and felt a horrible lump in her throat when his hands flopped into his lap. He was definitely unconscious. She looked away, and ducked her face into Booker’s neck, while he wrapped his arms around her waist. He was whispering something to her, but she couldn’t make it out over her own panic and quiet sniffling.   
  
It took an agonizing fifteen minutes before they heard a man who identified himself as a police officer approach the metal door.  
  


**The front courtyard of the Merrick Museum**   
  


Andy and Quynh had been at the University, just a half mile away, when they heard the firetrucks pass by - and joined some students piling against the windows to watch. Someone had run in claiming that something big was happening at the museum: a fire, _and_ a security breach. Andy’s immediate thought went to Booker and Nicky who were still working at the museum (for now). And Quynh hurriedly texted their group chat to see if everyone was safe. But as minutes passed by, they decided to race right over. One not answering was one thing - but to have no replies from all four? _No, this couldn’t be good._  
  
By the time they got there it was clear there was no fire, but there were several ambulances and police cars . . . “Andy! Quynh!”  
  
They were being kept behind the police line to keep the crowds at bay, but Andy adjusted her sight to spot Booker jogging towards them, “Booker what _happened_?!”  
  
He hurriedly explained, and Quynh literally gasped while Andy thought she could throttle Nicky and Nile for putting themselves at risk like that - that was until Booker explained that one of the ambulances was _for_ Nicky, and then dread replaced any anger she had, “Is he okay?” _What a ridiculous thing to ask_ , she realized, _obviously not if he needs an ambulance._  
  
Booker looked back for a moment, waving over Nile who looked more than worse for wear, before turning back to them, “Yeah, they’re certain it’s just a concussion but they’re keeping him overnight to be on the safe side - he’s awake right now, and talking about what kind of reception he and Joe are going to have.”  
  
Quynh laughed through her tears, “Hit his head that hard, huh?”  
  
Booker dipped his chin to his chest, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well Joe might have proposed in the middle of the kidnapping.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Quynh shook her head, and Andy thought that was both the most romantic thing, _and_ most ludicrous thing she had ever heard, “Seriously?”

Nile had just made her way over, her cheeks still streaked with dried tears and painfully shy and uncomfortable looking - like Andy was going to scold her or something. She seemed surprised when Andy instead asked her if she was okay.  
  
Booker looped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into it easily, before swiping at the tear that had pooled at the corner of her left eye, “I’ve been better.”  
  
A police man approached, asking if they could come by the station to make an official statement and Booker said _of course_ , and Nile sheepishly apologized saying they needed to go, but she’d call later to tell them everything. But before she left, Andy reached out to her, hugging her before resting her hand on the back of Nile’s neck, “Do call us tonight, even if it’s two in the morning, okay?”  
  
Nile nodded, and Booker hugged them both, before taking Nile’s hand in his and walking back over to the cop car closest to them. Andy and Quynh didn’t see Joe, but he was likely in the ambulance that was already pulling out . . . “Fuck.”

**28th of January - Booker’s Apartment - one a.m.**

“I was ready to hurl that man through his fucking office window.”

Booker smiled to himself in the kitchen, while Nile continued her conversation with Andy. She sounded much, _much_ better once Joe called from the hospital to say Nicky’s cat scan looked good - and they were keeping him overnight more for observation than anything else (then Joe asked Nile to take their engagement photos in the conservatory next week, and just knowing Joe wasn’t mad at her helped lift her mood immensely). She had wanted to talk to Nicky, too, to apologize but Joe said he was ensuring Nicky’s rest for the next forty eight hours - even with Nicky hollering at her in the background that he was _okay_ , and _Yusuf, stop I’m fine, you’re scaring her_ .   
  
“Oh of course he made bail - but with the security footage, the assault charges should stick just fine. The police think the lawyers will make some sort of deal so long the kidnapping charges get dropped though - but who knows, right?”  
  
Booker had just finished pouring them both a cup of tea, and was rounding the corner when Nile shook her head, “That’s kind Andy, but no I’ll take the weekend but I do plan on being back on Monday - thank you though.”

Once he sat hers down in front of her, she beamed up at him with one of her dazzling smiles, and he took the seat beside her while she returned to the call, “Mm-hmm, I’ll definitely tell you guys more about it tomorrow - yes, definitely call Joe, I’m sure he’s getting on Nicky’s nerves at this point.” Booker took a sip from his cup, then placed it next to hers on the table. 

“Okay, yeah you too. Thanks, bye,” Nile ended the call, and put her phone on the table, before scooching close to Booker. She settled against his chest, with her head finding that perfect spot on his shoulder, “ . . . I can’t believe it all worked out in the end.”  
  
Nile reached for his hand - the one he had wrapped around her shoulders - gently tracing the red knuckles from where he hit Merrick, “Does it hurt?”   
  
Booker leaned his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, “No, I’ll be fine - just glad it’s over.”  
  
Nile chuckled, “Well we might have to testify in court - “  
  
Booker smiled, his eyes still closed, “Small price to pay for my freedom.”  
  
“And what do you want to do now that you are free?“ she said it so quietly, and Booker raised his head to look down at her.  
  
Nile met his gaze, but her look was indiscernible. And he knew he still owed her an apology from earlier. He reached for her jaw with his free hand, tracing the firm line with his fingertips before settling his hand along her small neck, “Nile - I’m really sorry I locked you in my office, I - shouldn’t have done that, I was just worried because - “ Booker paused, but didn’t look away.  
  
Nile’s eyes looked a little softer, “Because you love me.”  
  
There were no more secrets now, she knew everything, and it felt strangely freeing _and_ terrifying to be laid so bare. He was still thinking of what to say - probably something about how she didn’t have to say anything back right now . . . when Nile surprised him by climbing into his lap. His mind instantly told him to grab her by the hips to keep her there, but he settled for a far more gentle hold on her waist.  
  
She’d never done this before, and he tried to think of anything but the fact that the blood was rushing to his groin . . .   
  
Nile dipped forward, hands resting on his chest now, and she _smiled_ down at his hazy eyes, “Je T'aime, mon coeur.”   
  
Booker’s face had to look ridiculous. He could feel how big he was smiling, his own cheek muscles begging him to give it a rest - but how could he? This beautiful, intelligent, queen of a woman (in his _lap_ thank you very much), just told him she loved him - in French. One teensy tiny part of him wondered if he should ask her if she was _sure_ , but _Mon Dieu_ he pushed past it and pulled her down towards him to kiss her properly.  
  
It was a slow, gracious kiss at first - but deepened momentarily. Hands began to roam, and when Nile’s hips rolled on top of his thighs he bucked his in response involuntarily, before pulling back, “Nile - “  
  
She’d need to tell him, ‘no’ . . . he wouldn’t be able to.  
Even now his fingers brushed against the slither of skin revealed by the hem of her shirt just above her waist band. He wanted to lift it over her head so badly.  
  
“I want to,” came her simple reply, and his hands tightened their grip to stable himself. Was this really happening?  
  
She closed the space between them, pressing a trail of kisses along his neck, and he grunted out his response, “Does this mean we’re dating? My one year sobriety is only two weeks away.”  
  
Nile chuckled against his skin, like she was remembering something before filling him in, “Sure, I threw your bottle through the door anyway.” 

“You _what?!_ ”  
  
Nile laughed as she sat up straighter, then shook her head, like she was telling him to ask her about it later - and frankly he had no problem obliging when she kissed his open mouth, and dipped her tongue against his.   
  
Then they tumbled into his bedroom . . . neither caring about the now cold tea left behind.  
  


**Three Months Later - the University Chapel**

In a way this was ridiculous, Joe knew that.   
  
Because this was only the first of _three_ weddings Joe and Nicky were going to have: _but that’s what happens when you have two big families around the world_ . They were resigned to flying halfway across the world so they could get “properly” married in their home countries, and not offend the older generations. But a nice long honeymoon did sound nice, and Andy was more than agreeable to let Joe use his stacked up vacation time to take an additional week off after spring break was over (which was starting the following Monday).  
  
Nicky, bless him, had been the Saint in this process. After everything with Merrick, Joe might have gone a _little_ overboard and insisted on Nicky staying in their apartment (or the University) so he could keep an eye on him. Nicky no longer had a job, but was _sort of_ okay obliging Joe by planning and coordinating the three weddings with their families (though saving most of the details with Joe’s family till he came home from work to help translate - because his parents had chosen to stay in Tunisia through the Spring, and Nicky could _not_ meet his in laws on.his.own over FaceTime for the first time to discuss a wedding to their son. Though luckily they seemed to like him just as much as Joe did).   
  
Otherwise though, Nicky spent time in Joe’s office - or visiting with the others, or hunched over endless books in the vast library at the University. When Andy offered him a position as a librarian, he outright hugged her and told her he’d love to, thanking her profusely. He was going to be starting once they returned from their travels, and Joe (who usually never taught summer courses), was already coordinating with Nile about teaching one this summer - so he could sneak into the library for kisses . . .  
  
Nile was pretty busy herself. 

She had wrapped her thesis, and sure enough, Andy had hired her on the spot to teach her very own class in the fall (after passing her accreditation). No longer was she just going to be a TA, but leading her very own class in the fall, and she couldn’t have been happier. Or Booker more proud.   
  
He did end up buying the house four doors down from Andy and Quynh, and they would be moving in together in six weeks when their leases were over. His anniversary had come and gone, but they found nothing had really changed. They were already so enraptured with one another, that they simply carried on as they had been. Of course Quynh teased about a _fourth_ wedding in the near future, but Nile said she wanted to focus on one thing at time - get one phase of life settled (both moving in with Booker, and teaching her very own class soon), before even thinking of planning a wedding. _Nicky makes it look easy,_ she had quipped _, but I know how much work goes into a wedding._  
  
And really Booker was just fine with that - because just like about every other part of their relationship, they say one thing, but just do the other thing anyway. Like how he hadn’t proposed to her _yet_ , but they talked about wedding dates. Or how they hadn’t discussed having a family, but Nile said the middle bedroom in the upper hallway would make a _nice nursery_ . And they hadn’t really talked about what job he should look for, but with his savings he teased about being a “house husband” while she could be the breadwinner, and he stopped looking at classifieds a month ago.  
  
Now Booker was tugging at his suit, making sure it looked straight for the photos, as Nile came around from his side. She looked quite beautiful in her pastel blue dress, and he lifted his arm as she tucked under, “Well hello Madame.”  
  
She smiled up at him, then reached up to straighten his bow tie. And yet as she moved in front of him, her eyes shifted down to his lips, “You make a very handsome Best Man.”  
  
Booker smirked, and wrapped an arm around her waist, never one to miss an opportunity to tease her mercilessly, “I’d make an even better looking groom one day.”  
  
Nile rolled her eyes, but he detected a slight blush on her cheeks nonetheless, “ . . . Just kiss me already - “   
  
Sadly just before he could, they were interrupted, “You two have _got_ to get a room.” Quynh was standing by the door, but she was all smiles when they looked back at her, “We are all set up and need the wedding party.”  
  
Following behind her, Booker and Nile headed further into the chapel and though neither said it out loud, they were both thinking about when they would get married - and if this was what it would feel like: intimate, and quiet, and romantic.  
  
Nicky had put most of the planning on the family weddings, but this - this one would be theirs. The chapel usually already had seasonal flowers in it, so they saved money on that front, with large groupings of orchids and lilies gathered at the front behind the altar. And Andy and Quynh had spent most of the morning lining the pew ends with some simple banners and lanterns on the stone floor - now illuminating the aisle in soft romantic light, while Booker and Nile had ensured that everyone’s suits were picked up on their way over. It was simple and understated and though Nicky loved his family - and would surely love Joe’s, too - this felt the most comfortable, the most serene. The one that counted the most in his heart (versus the pageantry that was coming in just a few days halfway across the world).   
  
He especially appreciated the small crowd. It was literally just them, Booker and Nile as respective Best Man and Maid of Honor, and then Andy and Quynh as the guests. Other than that, there was the officiant, the photographer and the pianist. That was it. Simple, and straightforward. Afterwards they would all head to the hotel to enjoy a quiet dinner, before Joe had all sorts of ideas for the honeymoon suite they were renting for the weekend before flying to Tunisia . . .  
  
But for now, Nicky and Joe walked down the aisle together, hand in hand - and though he felt a little shy as the photographer snapped away, Nicky didn’t look away. Smiling at the fact that within the next half hour, he was going to have Joe as his husband.  
  
As for Andy and Quynh, they were practically sitting in each other’s laps, thinking of their own wedding just short of three years earlier. The one that was just at the courthouse, with Joe as the witness. How strange to see how big their little family has gotten since then. Stranger even how things had worked out in the end. Merrick and Keane _were_ charged with a string of assault and kidnapping charges. Keane (and the two guards) were going to do some actual prison time, Merrick wasn’t, but he had to give restitution for “emotional and physical pain” to Nicky, Joe and Booker _and_ the museum was shut down by DHS as they meticulously went over every piece to ensure its authenticity. Booker helped them as an unofficial liaison, pointing out an item here and there, but surprisingly over 99% of the items were legitimate. 

(Eventually the museum would be reopened, but only after community funding raised enough for the University to buy it back - and turn it into a non profit. Nile was going to especially be involved in ensuring free days at the museum once a month so everyone who wanted to could learn about art. Quynh would host fundraising dinners, and Joe and Nicky would love to help authenticate pieces that sometimes still ended up on the University doorsteps . . . their little Old Guard group would quickly become known as a _safe spot_ to return art that might have come into the country under dubious circumstances). 

_But now_ \- now Joe and Nicky stood near the altar and said their vows, while the pianist played soft melodies and the photographer moved quietly taking pictures.  
  
Andy squeezed Quynh tighter to herself, whispering close to her ear, “I think I want a do over.”  
  
Quynh smiled to herself, trying not to let Andy distract her, as Joe placed the ring on Nicky’s finger, “ - Another wedding?”  
  
“We rushed the court house one, and this is nice, right?”  
  
Quynh must have sensed Andy’s eyes on her, and she looked at her after Nicky had placed his ring for Joe on his finger, “But we’re married nonetheless, that’s the most important Andromache.”  
  
“You wouldn’t want one?” Andy was being more serious than either had expected, surprising even herself.

The officiant declared Joe and Nicky married, and Joe might have gotten a _little_ overzealous when he pulled Nicky towards him - but if Nicky minded, he didn’t protest, and eagerly kissed him back just as fiercely while they all clapped, and cheered. 

And while Nile threw some confetti over them, Booker decided he was going to have to ask her to marry him sooner rather than later . . .

Quynh placed her hand over Andy’s heart, a gentle press, “I have you already - what more do I need? Just you and me - “  
  
Andy smiled, relenting, “Until the end.”

* * *

**NOTES: you guys that’s a wrap!** I wanted to give you a soft epilogue for now - _but there is a total tumblr FAN SERVICE set of epilogues coming for each couple_ that follows them in these adorable little snippets for the next five years as the family gets bigger ;) They should be up pretty soon, and I’ll post them one right after the other. But yes, the general story with plot part of this fic is over! And you guys, let me first just say THANK YOU for all the support and comments and kudos <3333  
  
When I first started fleshing this story out - my plans were to write about social justice and art (refer to my prologue), and though I hope I did manage to convey that, this story really grew into something far more than I had ever planned on. I tried to cover topics of emotional validation, addiction, recovery, sexual orientation, communication, grief, homophobia, loss, xenophobia, interfaith relationships, and found family - and yet, all those things ended up tying into social justice after all. When we realize the kindness we are all capable of, when we choose it everyday, it bleeds into our relationships, and into the spaces around us. We help people feel seen, heard, and loved, and that alone can help move mountains and cross barriers in a way we could never have imagined before.   
  
So thank you for all for sticking with this - thank you for everyone who helped give me feedback - and I hope you enjoy the beautiful epilogues our couples deserve. Much love to each of you lovies! <3


	11. Epilogue - Year One & Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of the finale - our couples get their soft epilogues.  
> The first one, is dedicated to Booker and Nile <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for the sweet comments to the finale! It really meant a lot <3 I hope you enjoy the gratuitous fan service of three epilogues, one dedicated to each couple. AND yes these are totally tumblr meta inspired xD 
> 
> The writing is a little different from the previous chapters, because I'm basically trying to cover a year at a time in the eyes of one character, but hopefully it flows okay! My most important goal was to show the love <333
> 
> Also, TW: grief and loss, related to Booker’s past, and a vaguely described panic attack

* * *

**Year One - Booker**

Booker had known he wanted everything with Nile.  
Knew it almost immediately after meeting her.

And he also knew he would ask her to marry him the moment she stood across from him in the University chapel at Joe and Nicky’s nuptials. That had been four months ago, and in the sweltering heat of July, Booker began to implement the plans with the others. 

They had moved into the townhouse in May, and after unpacking two small apartments into a larger space, realized it looked a little barren. Nile had already _sort of, kind of_ teased that the middle room of the three bedrooms might make a nice nursery one day, and Booker _might have, sort of_ cried a little at the prospect after Nile had headed to work. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have been thrilled at the idea, but he had already lost one baby, and a wife, and who knew what sort of accident could take Nile away from him, too. And it wasn’t like all pregnancies went smoothly. Anything could happen. Something _had_ happened in the past, and it was hard for Booker to contemplate a future that he feared might repeat itself.  
  
So he had busied himself with the house, decorating it, and making it homey one week at a time - and yes, Joe labeled him a “house husband” right away. Though Booker wore the title proudly. They weren’t married yet, not even engaged, but the title felt right and even Nile joined in when she’d head to the University. Every time she’d leave the house, she’d give him a tender kiss, before beaming up at him, “Bonne journée mari de maison _[have a good day house husband]_ ”  
  
How could he not smile throughout the day at that?

But there was one hard day. 

When he had found one small, worn shoebox, wrapped in several layers of tape in a box he had brought from France almost fifteen years ago. He was glad he was home by himself. Booker knew Nile wouldn’t begrudge him this, wouldn’t think less of him for it, but still - he clutched at the box for several minutes as he gulped thick bursts of air, willing himself to breathe through the moment and pain.

When he had managed to ground himself he sat the box down in the second bedroom - the one they were making into an office/guest bedroom - and reached for the scissors on the antique desk. He carefully cut through the tape, took one last deep breath and lifted the lid to memories he had literally packed away. Inside were several pictures of his wife, Jeanne, but the one on the top was her smiling, cradling her tiny baby bump - just a few short weeks before she died. It was the closest photo he had to the little girl he lost and though he thought he could handle it, he crumbled at the sight of it. The grief it stirred, the tears that pooled at his eyes but wouldn’t leave, because at the end of the day he felt guilt. Survivor’s guilt for still living, and fuck for even being happy right now - for having a life, and a future when they didn’t. For having fucked up that life with addiction for so long, for having been a coward who ran away from people who loved him, for allowing himself to be bought out to do bad things. He _was_ the fuck up -  
  
“ . . . You have scars, you are not less than for having them.”  
  
It had been Nile’s voice that cut through his panic attack. She had come back for lunch, which he had totally forgotten about making, and now there she was cradling him close to her chest - when had she gotten back? How long had she’d been holding him before her words finally pushed through his grief, “You are whole, you are precious, and you are loved by God.”  
  
They didn’t really talk about faith all that much - it was an important part of Nile’s identity, but Booker had stopped finding comfort in it after his loss. Nicky’s home altar would sometimes beckon his attention when Joe and him would watch the game, but he’d dismiss it just as easily. He wasn’t angry at God, more like confused, and he didn’t want to ask the questions of ‘why’. Because he didn’t know which he feared more - the answer, or the echo of his own rambling.

And when he finally composed himself enough to sit up more, he immediately rubbed the tears from his cheeks, afraid to look at her. And Nile, with the patience of ten wise people rolled into one, didn’t force him to. Just scooted close to him, and leaned her forehead against his neck, and raised her hand to cup the other side. She didn’t say anything else, just waited for his breathing to even out and he realized he was still clutching the picture that had set him off in the first place, “I should get rid of this.”  
  
 _That_ had made Nile respond. She immediately pulled back, and frowned, and he really didn’t know what to make of that look, “Seb _no_ \- why would you say such a thing?”  
  
Booker was utterly confused, “Because I should move on? This is _our_ house Nile, I probably shouldn't have these here.”  
  
Nile looked like _she_ could cry now, and Booker reached for the hand she had dropped from his neck, resting them in his lap, “So, what should we pretend those things didn’t happen? What about my Dad, should I not hang up his photo?”  
  
Booker shook his head, “No, of course not - I was just - . . . it’s not the same thing, Nile.”  
  
“Of course it’s not the same thing Seb, but it’s still grief over someone you loved,” one singular tear slipped down her cheek, and he swiped it away, hating that he hadn’t understood her meaning till then, “I would never want you to feel you can’t share your pain with me. And if you don’t want any sort of mementos because _you_ don’t want them, that’s one thing - but please do not think that you have to pretend your past didn’t happen for _my_ sake.”  
  
Booker’s breath hitched, and he pulled her into himself, grateful that she didn’t protest, “You’re right, pretending it didn’t happen is worse. And I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t use you as an excuse to avoid it.”  
  
Nile settled further into his grasp, legs tangling with his as their backs leaned up against the wall. She had waited a full two minutes before quietly asking if he’d like her to come with him to see a grief therapist. 

And Booker looked down at the picture and whispered _‘yes.’_  
  
The next day, after Nile had left for work, Booker returned to the office to finish unpacking boxes of books. He spotted two frames on the desk right away. When he walked over, he sank into the chair slowly taking it in: one was of Nile’s dad, the other was Jeanne, pregnant and smiling. Both had little black ribbons along one corner, and a small angel symbol in the other. Jeanne’s frame had two.   
  
He could never deserve Nile in a thousand lifetimes.  
  
After almost two months of weekly grief counseling sessions (some on his own, some with Nile), he felt ready. Ready to embrace the next step, ready to give her everything he could of himself. Scars and all. He was enlisting the help of the others, because he figured they could maybe come up with some ideas he hadn’t thought of yet, and on one particularly hot July summer day he headed to the University where she was teaching a summer class with Joe.

Everything had been arranged days before, and he could not be more grateful for everyone’s help. The antique ring he had picked out was boring a hole in his pocket, and even though he was very certain she’d say _yes_ , he still found himself nervous as he approached the library.  
  
Joe had found some excuse to keep Nile busy in his office for another half hour, while he had gone ahead and he and Nicky were already waiting by the checkout counter as Booker entered. There was a student who passed by him on the way out, looking a little flustered if he was reading it right, and Booker approached the desk a little confused, “Everything okay?”  
  
Joe literally twiddled his thumbs, which meant he was guilty of something, but was trying to play coy as his upper body leaned over the desk, close to Nicky who looked exasperated behind it. When Joe shrugged, seemingly refusing to answer, Nicky huffed, “Well I was merely telling a student that the library was closing an hour early today and asked if he’d like to check out.”  
  
 _Okay, nothing weird about that_ \- then Joe sort of flopped his head onto his shoulder giving Nicky his best lopsided grin, “And Nicolo didn’t seem to realize how easily he set himself up for a date.”  
  
 _What?_ “I’m not following.”  
  
Nicky rolled his eyes, beginning to scan some books from the cart behind him obviously trying to move on, but Joe merely continued as he looked at Booker, “I was just walking in, didn’t want to step in front of the guy and be rude - and well he said he wouldn’t mind _‘checking out’_ Nicolo, and _‘maybe Friday night?’_ ”  
  
Joe used air quotes when repeating what the student had said, and Nicky blushed a little, but refused to look up - while Booker chuckled, because he had thought that just about everybody knew Nicky and Joe were married by now. Joe had no problem laying on the PDA and hovered either in the library during his breaks, or Nicky would take lunch to Joe during his. They were a pair, in every sense of the word, but maybe the student was new to the campus. Either way, Nicky placed the stack of books on his desk and rolled his eyes, “Okay so I can’t read subtle flirtations, and looking back maybe that guy had been in here a lot lately, but did you really have to make such a display in response?”  
  
Now Booker’s curiosity was peaked, “What did Joe do?”  
  
Joe smirked, “This -” then reached across the desk, wrapping his hands around the suspenders Nicky was wearing, before pulling him close and kissing him on the lips. Nicky tried to look annoyed, but he closed his eyes and leaned in in a way that made even Booker glance away and cough to remind them he was still there.  
  
Nicky turned away, but Booker saw the smile he was trying to hide before faking annoyance, “You can’t go grabbing me in public like that whenever you feel like it - especially when I’m working.”  
  
Joe feigned shock, then chuckled, “One - the library had just closed _thank you very much._ And two - if you didn’t want me to grab you by those adorable suspenders, then you shouldn’t have worn them.”  
  
Nicky’s mouth parted, seemingly unsure how to respond to that, and Booker figured he only had about twenty minutes now before Nile arrived, “Don’t mean to come in between a newlywed squabble, but can I ask if everything is ready?”  
  
Joe gave Nicky one more teasing glance, then reshifted his focus, “I have never missed a deadline - want to check it out yourself?”  
  
Booker already felt emotional, and Joe wrapped a steady arm around his shoulders, “Come on sappy, let’s head upstairs.”  
  
Nicky followed close behind, carrying a bag of supplies and they ascended the iron spiral staircase to the classical section. There was a rope at the top that simply said, “stop” and Booker couldn’t thank Andy enough for securing the space throughout the day, _and_ for allowing them to shut down the library an hour early. It was the easiest way to keep Nile from suspecting anything by doing this before she’d be leaving campus.  
  
Once they stepped onto the second story platform area, Joe walked him towards the large stained glass wall where the sun was shining through, reflecting pretty colors of blue and red onto a simple small white cloth covered table with two cushioned chairs. Nearby was a small set up for the food, which Nicky insisted on making as an engagement gift, and he was keeping it covered and warm with some heating appliances he could plug in. The bag he was carrying were for the candles, and he was already arranging them and some rose petals on the table when Joe reached for the frame that was face down, “Tell me what you think - “  
  
Holding it for Booker, he was immediately taken in by the sweet caricature he had made of them. He used the first picture they had ever taken together - way back in the pumpkin patch - and underneath wrote in fancy script: _“Good, right?” “Dammit but yes.”_ (the ‘yes’ written with a gold colored ink for emphasis). It was an inside joke at this point - Booker acting like he didn’t like, or want something, Nile pushing him to try, and proving to be right in the end (just like she had that day with the pumpkin spice latte). She never pushed him to do something he didn’t want, but somehow always knew what he needed, and though she certainly didn’t press for a proposal - he knew she wanted one when he had overheard her talking to her mom about what kind of wedding she’d want _if_ he did propose.   
  
Booker had flown Nile’s mom and brother to their house for a long weekend last month to finally meet them in person (though they had spent several hours on FaceTime before), and somehow managed to make a good enough impression to both, that by the end of Sunday he was teased (much to Nile’s chagrin) about making an “honest woman out of her” soon. 

Now, as he clutched the beautiful picture Joe had sketched - that he hoped would bring a smile to her face while they ate - he felt his friend’s strong hands clasping him on his shoulder, encouraging him to look up, “She’s going to say _yes_ before you even ask.”  
  
Booker laughed around the happy tears gathering in his eyes, and took a deep breath that Joe mimicked comically, “Thanks Joe - and Nicky, you too, I - “ He looked at the table, at the two dishes already prepared, and smirked, “Deep dish pizza? You said you’d never make American pizza.”  
  
Nicky shrugged like it wasn’t just about the sweetest thing he could have done, “Nile says it’s a staple in Chicago, and so long I don’t have to eat it - “ 

Suddenly they were all alerted by Andy’s voice below, “T minus five minutes boys - Quynh says they’re rounding the corner.” Booker looked over the railing, smiling and thanking Andy again, but she waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal, and went to go hide till after Nile figured it all out.

Nicky gave Booker one last confident smile, wishing him luck, while Joe teased he wouldn’t need it - and then reached for Nicky’s hand as they descended the steps so Nicky could go back to the desk for when Nile arrived. Booker had picked the perfect spot. He’d be able to see Nile, but she wouldn’t notice him till she was already on the landing. And when she came in, she greeted Nicky and Joe warmly, with Quynh right behind her, “Hi guys - Quynh says you might have found a book I should check out for my class in a few weeks?”  
  
Nicky pulled out the index card Joe had helped him forge - and pointed to the second story, so she could follow the dewey decimal system up the stairs. If she suspected anything, she didn’t hesitate, simply took the card, and headed upstairs - Quynh, Joe and Nicky all giving Booker thumbs up as he shrank back from the railing to get into place. She would notice the table, before she reached the book, which was all part of the plan anyway.  
  
And when she did - when she froze at the sight of him, standing in front of a romantic table and dinner - nervously clutching his hands, she had to have known, “Seb - what . . . oh my God.”  
  
Booker took a few strides, closing the space between them, and removed the hand she had placed over her mouth before raising it carefully to his lips, gently pressing his mouth on each knuckle, “Can I help you find the book?”  
  
Nile blinked, tears already lacing through her pretty eyes lashes, “W-what?”  
  
Booker reached for her small wrist, curving fingers around the card she was holding, “May I help you find the book?”  
  
She knew, she _had_ to know, but obliged him anyway, nodding as he read the number and they walked closer to the table. A mere foot away, just at the end of the bookcase - they stopped, and Nile spotted it. The ring he had tucked between the top of the pages, peeking out and gleaming against the colors from the stained glass window. It was a simple cut, a vintage sapphire from the art nouveau era, and he waited for her to take the book from the shelf, “Seb - “  
  
Her voice sounded so quiet, sweet, endearing and he encouraged her to open the book. When she did, the ring glided down towards her body and she took it between her shaky fingers, “It’s beautiful.”  
  
Booker gently took the book from her, putting it right back where she had pulled from, before taking her left hand in his, “For a long time I did not think I deserved a second chance. Or worse, that I wouldn’t be able to earn it. But you have given me something I didn’t know I could ever have again: hope and freedom to embrace the future. And I have tried to grow into being a man of worth for you. And - “ God, he had hoped he’d be able to make it through this without getting emotional, but no such luck, “Nile Freeman, may I have the honor of being your husband?”  
  
She bit her bottom lip for just one second, then smiled, “Oui Sebastien. Yes, again and again.”  
  
He reached for her, pulling her into him harder than he had thought and she let out a little grunt that he quietly apologized for, but she shook her head, already closing her eyes, “It’s alright fiance - just kiss me already.”  
  
And when they did, they only parted when they heard their friends below clapping loudly.

**Year Two - Nile**

Nile had meant it when she said she would not want to plan a wedding during her first year of teaching. But blissfully she had a whole family (both blood and not) and Booker (who wanted to help her stay focused on her new career) to help. So he got the basics from her like the date (June 15th) to book the venue, the colors (turquoise for him and gold for her), and size of the guest list (which started at 25 but swelled to 50 after input from Nile’s mom - who spent two weeks with them in December to help Nile finalize plans during her break).  
  
But other than that, Booker narrowed down the options, and her friends were kind enough to help even with their busy schedules by tackling one section each. Andy and Quynh helped Booker scout venue options, but it was Quynh was the one who asked where the pumpkin patch was - and commented on how romantic and pretty it would look during the summer with lush, green rolling hills. Nile might have shed a tear at how sentimental Booker turned out to be when he talked about getting married where they had their _sort of_ first date. And happily agreed that it would be downright magical to get married there.  
  
Nicky _of course_ helped Booker check out caterers _and_ had several critiques about quality and consistency (and might have asked the waiters more questions than Booker had ever planned on). Joe meanwhile went with him to check out businesses who would supply the decorations because as he said, _‘I have an eye for aesthetics.’_ _  
_  
Though naturally the whole point was to narrow these things down, and then ask Nile on the weekends what options she liked and Booker would handle the rest come Monday. If Nile had any doubts about how sincere his intentions were, or worried about any sort of setbacks, his happy demeanor planning their wedding with their friends quelled any concerns. And though she was experiencing the normal amount of stress of teaching a whole class by herself, she did get good marks in her review at the end of the year in May, and looked forward to actually chipping in as much consistent effort as Booker had done in the two months before the wedding.  
  
Though it turned out that the only big thing she had left to do was pick out her dress. So she spent a weekend in Chicago, and her mom had all sorts of ideas, so Nile FaceTimed Andy and Quynh so they could help break the tie between the two options she was struggling between. It was when she was standing in front of the mirror, with the tailor taking in measurements, that Nile realized that soon - very soon, she would be tied to Booker in almost every sense of the word. And she couldn’t stop smiling.  
  
Now with the wedding just a month away - when Booker and Nile were hanging out at Nicky and Joe’s decorating little packets for the guests that included tissues and bubbles (because she could not think of birds bellies exploding eating rice) - she would come to learn just how much he wanted to tie himself to her and their future as well.  
  
Nicky spotted the little cards they were including in the packets - an engagement photo that said, “Congratulations Mr & Mrs” - and it reminded him of a conversation he had had a week before with a student at the University. They had said they hadn’t realized he and Joe were married, because they didn’t have the same last name (and Joe lamented that it better not have been someone _else_ asking Nicky out). But Nicky waved that off, and joked maybe one day he’d hyphenate their names together, “Though it doesn’t exactly flow together well, does it?”   
  
As Joe and Nicky talked of the significance behind marriage and name changes, Nile sat back against the sofa, because up until that very moment, she hadn’t considered that. How could she have let that slip her mind? And though she knew that it probably should have been a conversation in private first, when Joe casually asked if Nile was changing hers, she looked at Booker - biting her lip, “Is it bad if I want to keep my name?”  
  
Booker looked at her a little confused, and she hurriedly explained, “It’s just because I just started my career, and my thesis is under my name, and it might be confusing if I change it so early on - “

But he simply smiled as if she _wasn’t_ rambling, “Nile, I never expected you to change your name, much less that you would have to ask my permission to keep it. In fact - “ He scooted closer to her on the sofa, “I was going to show you the name change forms a little closer to the wedding, but - “ And then he took her hand in his, such a gentle touch for what he was about to say, “Well I hoped to change _my_ name when we got married.”  
  
“What?” Nile’s eyes narrowed, “ _Why_?”

“After you told me about the significance of the name ‘Freeman’ it made me think about the freedom you’ve given me in our life together. And you’re right, you are the one with the career now, and your name will carry weight. _My_ name when you Google it - “ he made a face, “ _Yikes_ . You should definitely keep your name.”  
  
Joe and Nicky were awfully quiet, even when Nicky went to the kitchen to get an ice cream cone as a reward for packing his share of reception packets. But Nile couldn’t pull herself away from Booker’s gaze long enough to ask them their opinion as men (she had never heard of a man changing his name upon getting married), “But - . . . . that doesn’t mean you have to change yours.”  
  
Booker smiled, almost shyly, “If we are blessed with a family, I would want our child to have your name - and I wouldn’t want a different last name then them. I want us to be a unit.”  
  
 _God_ , every time she thought she couldn’t love Booker more, he floored her again - and she hurriedly climbed into his lap to give him sweet kisses on both his cheeks, until finally Joe teased they should go home if they’re going to keep doing that. But when Nile looked over at them, she saw Nicky sitting casually in Joe’s lap eating his ice cream cone, and she sensed he was just trying to get them out of there - at least with the way he was clutching on Nicky’s shirt (though Nicky just continued eating as if he didn’t realize the effect he was having).

But that was fine by her - she wanted to give Booker a very personal kind of thank you for how thoughtful he was . . . and they couldn’t get home fast enough.  
  
The wedding in and of itself went off without a hitch: Andy, Quynh and her mother helped her get ready in the bridal suite, and they spent half an hour conversing about the free-for-all museum days Nile was heading up once she returned from her honeymoon. Her mother walked her down the aisle, and her brother danced the traditional father-daughter dance with her. And though some distant second cousin questioned why she didn’t choose a female maid of honor, Nile defended Nicky’s title of “Man of Honor” status quite easily. Joe was the best man (returning the favor to Booker from his wedding two years before), and might have twirled Booker on the dance floor twice in _such_ an exaggerated way that some of the guests wondered if he had managed to slip some alcohol into the dry reception. But Nicky merely answered around a mouthful of tortellini that that’s just how Joe is, “No alcohol needed.” 

It was the honeymoon where everything would change.  
  
They were going to spend three weeks in Paris, and though Booker had bought a seasonal pass to the Louvre, and they talked on and on about all the bookstores and cafes and touristy places they’d see (she was personally looking forward to Versailles) . . . well once they arrived at the honeymoon suite, Nile stepped onto the Juliet balcony and took in the site of the Eiffel Tower _right there_ on the horizon. 

“It’s like a dream,” she sighed, as Booker stepped up behind her wrapping his arms around her waist. He dipped his head into the crook of her neck, little chaste kisses along the skin, which turned into open mouth kisses that trailed to her shoulder, “Seb - “  
  
She could feel him smiling against her skin, but his voice sounded husky with need already, “I know I should let you explore the city, but I just realized I get to have you to myself for the next three weeks - no interruptions, no work, nothing to stop me from loving on my wife.”  
  
Nile leaned back against him, closing her eyes for a moment, “So long you promise me when you’ve had your fill, we go do something touristy.”  
  
Booker pulled the strap of her dress down, teasing, “You’re assuming I’d ever have my fill of you ma femme.”  
  
Nile turned around in his embrace, beaming up at him, “I have to admit, I might like the idea of not seeing much beside this hotel room for the next three weeks.”

She wished she could have captured the actual glint in his eyes when she told him that, but had to settle on it searing into her memory - before she pushed them both back into the room, and shut the balcony door.  
  
And though they _had_ talked about her going off of her birth control once they were married, they were both downright shocked when she was a week late by the time they flew back . . .  
  
When Nile emerged from their master bathroom with a positive test, Booker practically hoisted her in the air as he wrapped his arms around her lower back. He couldn’t even look at her for a moment, just buried his face in her shoulder and told her how happy he was. And Nile, who would have given him anything, crumbled against his tender embrace, grateful that this meant so much to him.  
  
It had started so beautifully, that Nile had been on cloud nine, unable to see Booker’s increasing worry. The way he hovered seemed at first attentive, before becoming a little much. The way he insisted on walking her to and _back_ from the University every day, or looking up things she should avoid eating or drinking. One hot August day, when she got a little dehydrated, and needed some IV fluids Booker was so worried ( _no, worse - scared_ ), that Nile reached out to Quynh to ask for feedback on his behavior. 

She had been the most experienced when it came to therapies, and trauma and maybe she’d have some insight on how Nile could support Booker during this time. Because as much as she wished she could have chalked it all up to first time Dad nerves, deep down she knew she couldn’t - _because he wasn’t a first time Dad, was he? Not really._   
  
When Quynh asked Booker if she could come over, he figured what it was about - and though Nile was right there beside him - Quynh and Booker were so engaged in their deep discussion that Nile just sat back and tried to listen. Booker admitted how bad he felt for letting his nerves get the better of him. He kept saying how happy he was about Nile being pregnant, but the fear of what _could_ happen felt like a cloud around his head. Worse, he felt like failure for having such a mental set back, especially since he’d been doing all the grief counseling and should have all the “tools” he needed to help himself through this.  
  
But Quynh, God bless her, quietly assured him that no matter what tools were in your arsenal, sometimes you needed to learn new ones. That what worked in the past, even the recent past, might not work currently. And she made it absolutely clear that he wasn’t a failure for needing to learn some new ones. Booker felt a little more relieved after talking with Quynh, and she even offered him some books that had helped her - which he promised to check out. But if Booker feared any awkwardness afterwards, he was relieved when Quynh said she was looking forward to seeing them both at the weekly game night at her house in a few days, before heading out. 

Two weeks later, when they got the blood test back, and it said they were having a girl, Booker cried - even more sure now that history would repeat itself. He didn’t get to have his first baby girl, why would he now? At least those were the thoughts keeping him awake at night. That night (after admitting that out loud to Nile) she ran her fingers through his hair as he breathed through the moment, “I love you, Seb.”  
  
“I love you, too ma coeur.”  
  
“I think we should talk to someone together though - like a counselor? - because what’s going to happen when it’s time to by a mini van?” Booker hadn’t driven a car since his accident. Was he really not going to let her drive one, too?  
  
Booker sat up, not having thought that far ahead it seemed, and his eyes looked so sad, “I - . . . I’m sorry. Just - I’m sorry, Nile. I’ve been so controlling lately haven’t I?”  
  
Nile lifted her hand to make a symbol, “Just a smidge - but I understand why. Really I do - I just don’t want to enable some sort of unhealthy coping skills. And besides, it would be nice to have a coffee every now and again.”  
  
Booker placed his hand over her stomach, stretching his fingers as he settled it, “I’ll do anything to make this the best time for you Nile, you shouldn’t have to worry about me during this - and I’m sorry you have been.”  
  
But Nile merely leaned her head back on the sofa, smiling up at him, “Eh, marriage - it’s kind of par for the course thinking about the other person right?”  
  
Booker looked down at her stomach, a weak tired smile, but a smile none the less, “Let’s think of something happy then - what shall we name her?”  
  
Nile thought back through some of the options she had narrowed it down to, and beamed back, “What about Sophie?”  
  
Booker’s eyes shot up to hers, “After my mother?”  
  
Nile smiled, “She’s already going to have my last name - her first name should reflect your heritage, too.”  
  
Booker’s weak smile spread, his whole face lit up, and he leaned back into her stomach, resting his cheek against the now exposed skin, “Sophie. _Sophie_. Yes, I like that - Sophie Freeman.”

It would take a few sessions of marriage counseling, and a general acceptance that Booker’s nerves would not be fully restored until Nile and Sophie were wheeled out of the hospital. 

But they would be okay. They would always be okay.

* * *

**NOTES:** *sniff* how cute are they, right? Let me just take a quick moment to send some love to tumblr user "themoonwheniamlost" who helped me name Sophie :) AND wrote an amazing post about Booker changing his name upon getting married that burrowed its way into my brain until I wrote this out! As someone who kept their own name after getting married, I quite enjoy the symbolism behind the decision and wholeheartedly agree that Booker would do something like this <3   
  
Make sure to stick around, because the next epilogue will feature Nicky and Joe (with the others making appearances, too), and I'm just doing some final edits - so they might even be up tonight! :)


	12. Epilogue - Year Three & Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue continues for our couples - this time featuring Joe and Nicky <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without spoiling anything, let's just say that this 100% Tumblr inspired ;)

* * *

**Year Three - Nicky  
**

The museum had reopened in the fall, and though Nile was five months pregnant, and working full time _and_ arranging the free-for-all low income program - she somehow still ended up filming videos for the social media campaign they had launched at the same time as the reopening. At first, Nile had been taking a lot of videos to send back home, and some to record messages for Sophie later in her life - but when Andy had seen how good they were, she invited Nile to record behind the scenes of the exhibits being set up, and she loved it because it tied in nicely with her thesis about the community being more invested in their local art museums if they had access to see the kind of work that went into it.   
  
She even set up videos of Quynh’s third book launch that she hosted at the museum, and the first fundraiser that raised both a lot of funding and publicity - but it was Andy’s idea of having a small gallery space to exhibit local artists near the gift shop, to which Nile would record a short interview, that thrust Joe and Nicky into the spotlight.  
  
The local artist exhibition would be a rotation of applicants, and Nicky had submitted some of Joe’s art for consideration without his knowledge. He figured it would be the best to spare his husband’s feelings if the committee didn’t end up picking him. And at first, when Joe was accepted, he scoffed and said he didn’t want any kind of nepotism assuming Andy and Quynh had had a hand in the selection process - but once they assured Joe they weren’t on the committee for that, and that he had been chosen on his own merits, he was floored because he never considered they’d be good enough for an exhibition.   
  
So when his turn came on a cold day in January, he was beaming beside one of the pieces he had done, while Nile held a camera as she interviewed him for the museum’s social media page, “I am here with Mr. Joe Al Kaysani, our latest talented local artist to be featured at the Bythewood Museum - and I am so excited for him to share with you a little about his process and inspiration.”  
  
Nicky was watching quietly from a far, sipping on some champagne and overhearing various guests giving flattering comments as they passed from one piece to the next. He really could not have been more proud, and happy for him. Of course Joe was a natural in front of the camera, all smiles, and answering Nile’s inquisitive questions about compositions and materials used, but it was when she asked about his inspiration that Nicky caught Joe’s eyes rising over Nile’s head and back at him: _oh no._ _  
_  
He barely had a chance to lower his glass, balancing the bottom in the palm of his hand to prevent him from fidgeting with the button down he was wearing, when Joe smirked, “Obviously my biggest inspiration is also my biggest supporter - my husband, Nicolo Di Genova.” Nile, much to Nicky’s chagrin, shifted the camera until it was now facing Nicky and he stiffened under the lens until Joe walked over to him, casually wrapping an arm around his waist - and completely ignoring Nicky’s shyness, “This man right here - _ya amar_ \- is the reason I even have a gallery right now to add to my resume.”   
  
Nile made an ‘aw’ face, but Nicky didn’t catch it, because his eyes were downcast smiling weakly as Joe continued, “He actually submitted my art behind my back, because he believed in me more than I did. And I owe this night, and my happiness to him.”

And Nicky finally looked up, ignoring Nile’s camera all together, genuinely touched, “You talk as if you haven’t given me so much more in return _amore mio_ .” Then, having forgotten all about Nile, or her camera, Joe tucked a curved finger under his chin and gave him a sweet kiss - not deep, but lingering before Nile said, “Cut.”  
  
Nicky was thoroughly embarrassed, asking her to please tape another interview that would preferably not include him, but Joe (with a wink) said he’d pay her if she uploaded that one. Nile for her part teased she had the perfect hashtags to add and waddled away towards Booker who had just arrived.  
  
Neither would realize what they had agreed to, until their little video with Nile’s hashtags of #hotprofessor and #adorkablelibrarian had actually gained traction on the social media page. When the video had been downloaded and shared on YouTube, gaining views, and comments for more, Nile beamed that she’d love to set up a channel for them. Something casual, nothing major . . . and Nicky should have said, ‘no’, but she persuaded him by saying they could start with cooking lessons from Nicky (and he did like the idea of helping someone out there make a home cooked meal).   
  
Inevitably though Joe would come into frame, not meaning to take the spotlight, just trying to sing Nicky’s praises - while Nicky would tease him about being such a distraction. Even Andy told them to keep making the videos because it was good publicity for the University, and by linking most of their videos to the museum’s website - they were able to help fundraise for it with ad revenue. 

It was their chemistry, and sweet interactions that drew more subscriptions, but (at least based on the commentary that Nile saw) the viewers seemed to appreciate the representation of a queer marriage that was multiracial, cultural, and religious. Though neither Joe or Nicky thought it was _that_ big of a deal, with Nile’s insistence they made a Q&A video in April answering some of the most common questions their channel received - and that, even more than the cooking, and art lessons Joe was now adding, too - resonated with their viewership. 

In fact, one of Nicky’s personal highlights from their exposure was being invited to an interfaith ministry panel where they were allowed to talk about their marriage - and how they made it work. Joe said that neither felt they had to water down their faith in order to be together, and at first they had both felt like their faith had become more cultural than religious. But as they grew as a couple, and felt more comfortable, they began to embrace their faiths on deeper levels together, “I don’t believe I have to choose between convictions and compassion - I can have my faith, and my love.” Nicky for his part had been silently agreeing with Joe’s take, completely fine to just sit beside him and let him do all the talking, but when the moderator asked for his take, he quietly spoke into his microphone, “I agree with Yusuf, and really we knew right away, that even if there was something we disagreed with, there would always be that mutual respect - we aren’t perfect, but we are always kind.”

Nicky hadn’t thought what he said was that deep, more common sense than anything else, but he had noticed a few members of the audience wiping away tears, and his heart hurt for those who might not have been embraced unconditionally by the people they loved. He had always known how lucky he was to have Joe in his life. But now Nicky knew luck didn’t have anything to do with it. They both worked equally as hard to help each other be seen and heard, and the intimacy between them only deepened as they celebrated their second wedding anniversary with a week long road trip (that Nile begged them to take plenty of photos for her to upload).

And just before Sophie was due, Nile spent time recording Joe, and Quyhn discussing their favorite pieces at the museum from their cultural backgrounds - giving educational insight to a piece here, and a piece there - before Andy recorded Nile sharing about her specialty in the African-American Art field. She had plans to edit them for uploads that Andy could stagger out over the weeks she’d take off, but Sophie decided to come a week early. And Booker was so nervous that it was almost comical, if Nicky hadn’t seen the tears in his eyes. Joe ended up driving them to the hospital in the late afternoon, while Nicky lit a candle in front of the home altar. 

Afterwards, when Nile invited everyone the next day to meet her and Booker - who seeing that both Nile and Sophie were a hundred percent perfect, could finally breathe again - brought her out, Nicky watched in awe as this teeny tiny bundle was passed around. She had little wisps of dark curls, but her eyes were blue like Booker’s (or so he said, Sophie was soundly asleep the whole time). And when Joe cradled her so easily in his arms, Nicky felt something in his heart stir that he had never considered before. A different kind of future that they had never even talked about.  
  
Finally, when it was his turn to hold her, and she cooed a little against his chest, Nicky realized that no matter how many blessings he already had - no matter how grateful he was, he wanted this for himself and for Joe, too. And he had no idea how to broach the subject with him.   
  
It had worked out great that Nile having given birth at the end of the academic year, could now relax (well as much as any new mom can) with the baby over the summer, before heading back to work in the Fall. And if people teased Booker about being a house husband, they were floored with well he took to fatherhood - he kept Sophie cradled to his chest in a baby wrap through most of the day as he went about cleaning, or cooking, or even just a trip to the grocery store. He never seemed to get impatient or frustrated with her, even when she was fussy and couldn’t be consoled - though he was definitely exhausted by the time Nile came home (who would happily take her for most of the evening while he napped). Yes, Booker was a natural, or maybe he could appreciate it on an entirely different level. Either way, Nile could not stop singing his praises (as if she didn’t make it look easy herself).   
  
But it was when Nicky offered to babysit once a week so they could go on a date ( _or just clean their house_ , Joe teased) that the seed that had been planted at the hospital had begun to flourish.

During the week Nicky loved his job - a day of floating in a room of knowledge at his fingertips? Helping people look up things and research? It really helped him come out of his own shell a bit to be able to talk a little bit about everything. And if he didn’t know the broad strokes of a subject, he made every effort to study the cliff notes so he could better help the next student.  
  
And he really came around to the videos they made (though they had taken a “hiatus for the summer” with Nile out of commission), even enjoying them, because he was still getting messages of a dish someone learned to make because of his video. Or how lucky he was to have the #hotprofessor as his husband - because _of course_ the best part of his life was Joe.   
  
But the _highlight_ of the last four months of his days, was getting to watch Sophie (with her sweet little dimples, curly hair and bright eyes) for two hours a week. The little coos, the way her eyes observed everything as if it was brand new. Even the colicky cries and poopy diapers couldn’t deter him. When Nicky held her in his arms, he realized just how much he wanted to be a Papa. 

So finally, right before the fall semester started, Nicky made one of Joe’s favorite deserts - and waited for him to finish it off - before hoping to broach the subject.  
  
Except Joe beat him to it. 

He pushed the empty desert bowl away from him, and folded his arms over his chest, giving him one of those lopsided grins that even almost four years later, still could make Nicky feel all gooey inside, “I was thinking the other day _ya amar_ \- about how much you do me for every day.”  
  
Nicky lifted his eyebrows in curiosity, before smiling as if Joe didn’t do just as much for him, “What are you talking about, _amore mio_ ?”  
  
Joe was undeterred, “Do I need to repeat the proposal to you again? You are kindness personified Nico - and you still think of yourself last. And I try to do everything I can to make sure you are content, no, happy - “  
  
“I am happy Joe, truly,” even if Joe said ‘no’ to what Nicky was about to ask, he really would count his blessings for the rest of his days to be married to this man sitting across from him. He would never want him to think otherwise.  
  
“I just - “ Joe got up from his chair, and walked over to Nicky, kneeling beside his, “I want to do something big for you - maybe for our meet anniversary in November? But you say you are content, so what do I give you that you don’t already have?”

Nicky bit his lower lip, it was now or never, “ . . . A baby?”

Joe’s eyes widened, “What?”  
  
Nicky immediately began to ramble, over explaining in hopes of convincing, “I know we should have talked about it before we ever got married, but I didn’t really think it would ever be an option for me, and I didn’t know how much I wanted it for myself, until I got to watch Sophie so much - and I want that -” He looked down at his hands in his lap, a little afraid to see Joe’s reaction to his words, but determined to be clear, “ - I want a baby.”  
  
Joe’s hand came into view, gently tugging at his chin until Nicky turned his gaze towards his warm smile, “I want to do everything with you habibi - “

“Really?” Nicky felt the smile spreading across his face when Joe nodded. And then he felt a little emotional, because why had he ever thought Joe _wouldn’t_ want this? He was just as warm and affectionate with Sophie, never seemingly bothered by her presence. One of Nicky’s most favorite recent memories was needing to grab something out of the oven, while Joe was sketching nearby, and he told him to place her in his lap. And by the time Nicky had come back, she was asleep in his arm, while he quietly sketched with his free hand, balancing the sketchpad on his knee. It was such a heartwarming sight, that he took a picture without Joe noticing and sent it to Nile on her date with Booker.  
  
Now Joe leaned in, resting his forehead against Nicky’s for a moment, before pulling back to give him a tender kiss. And when Nicky pondered if you could die from happiness, Joe beamed up at him, “What color?”  
  
Nicky’s eyes widened, “ _What_ ?”  
  
Joe smirked, “Your shade or mine?”  
  
Nicky shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes, as he shrugged his shoulders, “Yours?” 

Joe only smiled before pulling Nicky out of the chair and down onto the floor with him, and Nicky who was grateful for even the smallest kindness - sank into his lap easily as they began to talk about just how they would expand their family.  
  
It surprisingly didn’t take long.   
  
Just a few days later, when Joe called his parents in Tunisia (who had recently retired and moved back there) to talk about his plans with Nicky - his mother gave them a broad smile that was just as cheeky as Joe’s. Nicky’s Arabic still needed plenty of work but he understood the jist as she explained a distant cousin of Joe’s - an underage, single young woman - was pregnant and looking to place the baby up for adoption. The part that made both Joe and Nicky do a double take was that the baby - a girl - would be born around their meet anniversary (in just ten weeks).  
  
Joe and Nicky hadn’t really arranged anything. 

They would need a bigger place for a nursery, a lawyer to handle the international paperwork, arrangements to fly over, arrangements for work as they left for who knew how long. And yet, when they looked at each other, they knew. They _felt_ it, and Joe asked his mother for the cousin’s contact information to reach out to her.  
  
Nicky grabbed pen and paper and started making the list, and somehow, _somehow_ it all worked out - though Nicky would tell anyone who would listen that it was God making these things happen. There were just too many coincidences to ignore (like coincidence one: Joe’s cousin, and coincidence two: her due date). 

Or coincidence three: how the apartment they were renting was part of a condominium. And when they began to look for another, found out there was a _bigger_ condo available on the same floor. And they bought it with a downpayment from the settlement money Nicky and Joe had gotten from Merrick’s lawyers (but had been saving, not even sure for what - till right at that moment). Because it had already been empty for a while, they had gotten a good deal for it, and it was available for immediate occupancy. They simply moved their stuff four doors down the hallway. It couldn’t have been a simpler transaction.  
  
Or coincidence four: how Nile shared the news of their impending travels to Tunisia to adopt, and several subscribers donated money to help with the costs. Which was so generous, that between the donations and their savings, they were ready to book the flight. Nicky then made his own video assuring the viewers they had enough, and then shared several other people’s adoption videos so their subscribers could send _them_ money.   
  
Or coincidence five: how the lawyers in both countries were able to get legal guardianship documents going fairly easily (until the adoption was finalized later). And when Joe and Nicky flew over a week before the due date his cousin hadn’t changed her mind (the biggest fear Nicky had had). But the biggest coincidence was when the baby, who they named Amira, was born on their meet anniversary. Even Joe cried saying it was meant to be.   
  
Absolutely nothing could have prepared Nicky for getting to hold his own baby. He had thought he loved Sophie plenty, and of course she was just as special in his life - but Amira was his own. She wouldn’t leave in a few hours, or a few days, she was theirs. And when Nicky looked up at Joe, who was already patting her soft curls, he leaned into him not caring who saw, “I can never thank you enough Yusuf.”  
  
Joe stopped, and gazed into Nicky’s eyes with such depth and love that had it not been for his steady arm around his waist, Nicky might have just gone weak at the knees, “You thank me every day Nicolo. Every day.”  
  
They were just about to kiss when Amira cooed, interrupting them, and Nicky pulled back breathing around the watery eyes, “I hope that means our daughter approves.”  
  
They spent one week in Tunisia, finalizing the paperwork, and spending time with Joe’s family - before traveling to Italy for a second week to introduce her to Nicky’s side. But they were definitely ready to bring their daughter home, and settle into some sort of routine. Joe and him had taken a whole semester off as a sabbatical and were looking forward to going back to work in January. And though only two weeks gone, they missed their other family, too. 

When they finally returned to their condo, just before December, they found their home had been freshly cleaned and decorated for their arrival. And everyone was waiting to greet them: 

Andy and Quynh had decorated the door to the nursery with streamers and balloons. And Booker and Nile brought seven month old Sophie to meet her new “cousin”, even though she was asleep and really could care less. And they all stocked the fridge and freezer with meals to last them for at least a few weeks. There were a lot of smiles, and laughs, and yes, pictures taken. But as the night wore on, everyone slowly left wishing them good luck on the first night home.  
  
 _Home_. It had been a word with multiple definitions. Shifting and changing at different seasons in his life. Now it meant wherever Joe and Amira were. That was Nicky’s home.

Swaddled and peacefully asleep (for now), Joe placed Amira in her crib, while Nicky watched from the doorway. He quietly stepped backwards into the hallway as Joe stepped out and closed the door behind him, mindful of how loud the door lock might be. When in the clear, he turned around to Nicky smiling, “You just placed our daughter in her crib, in our home, for the first time - “  
  
Joe chuckled as he wrapped his arms around Nicky’s waist, “First of many I assume.”  
  
Nicky dipped his head against Joe’s shoulder, smelling the after shave he had used that morning, “I think my heart might just burst from happiness.”  
  
Joe squeezed him a little tighter, “If it does, I’ll resuscitate you.”  
  
Nicky hummed a little, starting to fully feel the effects of their long journey and Joe tugged him along to their bedroom - teasing he should sleep when the baby sleeps, but fully expects all sorts of kisses when he wakes up. Nicky rubbed his eyes with his palms as he stifled a yawn, while Joe pulled the covers back, “Deal _Baba_ .  
  
  


**Year Four - Joe**

Joe had always been a pretty happy go lucky sort of a guy. The kind that wore his emotions on his sleeve, and had no qualms letting you know how much you meant to him. He found joy in life because he chose to see the world through an artistic lens. _Even the mundane could be made magical with the right canvas._ But that didn’t mean he was naive. He knew pain, and he knew loss, and it made it somehow easier for him to appreciate even more the blessings of these last few years.  
  
He reconnected with Booker, who though he was a stay at home husband, they still managed to coordinate their schedules to see each other at least twice a week (either at Andy’s and Quynh’s for game nights, or going on double dates, or watching the soccer season together). And quite often they would send the most random memes to each other, that somehow managed to be perfectly timed right when Joe was ready to fling his syllabus out the window.  
  
Andy had recently offered him tenure (which he gratefully accepted), but only after she assured him it was not because of their friendship, but because he had genuinely had the most consistently positive reviews year after year. And even now, he, Andy, Quynh, and Nile would often have morning coffee in the art lounge together - while Joe would sketch them as casually as if he had always been doing it.

But his biggest blessing had been Nicky of course. His husband, his moon, his kindness personified. His love who had encouraged him to exhibit his art, and give lessons online, while Joe turned around and nudged him to upload cooking lessons. This man who was the sweetest librarian, and wanted to help everyone. And thank gosh, he never lost that little half bun, that even five years later Joe still liked to tug on when reaching for him.  
  
Now that blessing included Amira.

And if he thought highly of Nicky before, he absolutely fell in love with his husband all over again watching him be a father. He’d get up with her in the middle of the night, and sing her Italian lullabies (which he had never heard Nicky do more than hum melodies before, and couldn’t believe that he never known he could sing as well). Or he’d insist on Joe staying focused on grading exams, and would walk her through the hallways of their condo building on cold winter nights till she fell asleep against his chest. And he’d coordinate the best schedules every month with the daycare program the University had, with their own work schedules, so they could both work but hopefully not leave Amira in there full time.

Once a week Booker and Nile would watch the girls together, so Nicky and Joe could spend some time catching up. And Quynh and Andy - as busy as ever - would insist on them bringing the babies over on game nights and held them, fed, and even changed them while they’d play games. 

It was a charmed life.  
  
The _only_ thing he missed was having enough energy and time to romance Nicky. Joe knew it would get easier down the road, especially once Amira slept through the night - but for now, he’d have to settle for far too quick, and far too quiet sessions because she slept too lightly. That or he’d have to soundproof their room soon - _either way_ .  
  
Rolling over one fine spring day in April, he draped his arm over Nicky’s bare chest and trailed light kisses over his bare shoulder till he stirred awake, “Good morning husband.”  
  
“Mm,” Joe acknowledged, but didn’t stop as he began working his way down.  
  
Nicky moved his hand to Joe’s hair, curling his fingers against the scalp and hummed, “Are you having some sort of thoughts for this morning?”  
  
Joe did lift his head up for that, giving him his best coy smirk, “Always.”  
  
Nicky shifted a little, turning his body towards Joe more, one hand pressed against his chest, “Is Amira still asleep?”  
  
Just at that moment - Amira’s cries blared through the monitor and Joe sighed dramatically as he dipped his head against Nicky’s neck, “You know she can hear that word _‘sleep’_ right? It’s like she telepathically reads it in her sleep state and automatically wakes up.”  
  
Nicky only laughed because he did not indulge Joe’s theory, no matter how many different ways he tried to present it. Nicky didn’t mind pausing and coming back later to matters in bed - but Joe was starting to get blue down there after about five months of stopping and going.  
  
Nicky began to climb out from the bed, but Joe pulled him right back down, “Yusuf - we shouldn’t leave her crying - “  
  
Joe knew that of course, didn’t disagree but just then thought of something - “Nicolo - it’s our wedding anniversary next month. And I know you might not feel comfortable yet leaving Amira with someone, but please can we go somewhere for a weekend? Just you and me?”  
  
Nicky smiled, one of those dazzling smiles that lit up his whole face, “Hm I probably will want to check in on her several times a day - but, let’s make it after classes end, and we can go a whole week?”  
  
Joe’s eyes widened, downright astonished, “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”  
  
Nicky chewed his bottom lip, before smiling, “Well I will miss Amira of course - and like I said, I might need FaceTime access to her several times a day. But one week a year, nurturing our marriage is probably a healthy thing, right?”  
  
Joe gave him a concerning look, “You nurture it plenty Nicolo - I don’t want you thinking you don’t do enough.”  
  
Nicky scooted a little closer, his hand coming up to Joe's chest, and tracing a finger tip through the curls on his chest, “Maybe I’m a little pent up too, and wouldn’t mind a week of your undivided attention.”  
  
Amira cried louder, and Joe knew he needed to let Nicky get up, but first he gave him a deep kiss - “I’ll make arrangements.”  
  
Nicky smiled, crawling out of bed, and reaching for his pajama top, “Where do you want to go?”  
  
Joe did not like the view of Nicky’s beautiful chest being hidden under clothes, but stayed focused on the task at hand, “What about the same place we went to for our honeymoon, Malta?”

Nicky beamed, agreeing whole heartedly.  
  
Amira had ended up staying with Nile and Booker, though Nile did take her to University daycare during the week to give Booker a break. And Andy and Quynh took her on the weekend to give them _both_ a break before Joe and Nicky would return. As for Nicky, he did need to call her at least once a day and she’d reach for the phone every time, seemingly confused as to why she could see them on the screen, but not touch them. But otherwise several photos throughout the day from their family helped them relax enough that by the second day they thoroughly stepped into vacation mode - spending days at the beach, and nights wrapped around each other.  
  
The trip had been downright magical for them both, and they came back refreshed and excited to enjoy their summer off. Joe had decided not to teach a summer class that year, and while Nicky continued to work, he enjoyed the shorter summer hours. They both just focused on bonding with Amira who was getting cuter by the day. Pretty curls that matched Joe’s sprouting in all directions.   
  
When they had happened to be over at Booker and Nile’s on a cold fall day, Nicky was holding her in his lap - now one year old, while Booker was cuddling with Sophie beside him, who was playing with a toy. Joe and Nile had been discussing the latest art exhibit, when they heard Nicky ask Booker what kind of hair products he used for Sophie - since their hair didn’t seem all that different from one another. Booker looked a little sheepish, and admitted that Nile was much better at picking the right products, though he was watching some videos online on how to braid it as it was getting longer and thicker.  
  
Joe and Nile glanced at one another and gave that all familiar, ‘White people? _White people_ .’-look but otherwise did enjoy watching their husbands at least trying . . .  
  
But the most memorable moment that night came _right_ after, when Sophie lifted her toy towards Booker, and drew his attention with a high pitched, “Papa, _papa_ .” He snuggled her close, pressing the buttons for her, while she squealed when the toy lit up again.  
  
And then it happened. 

Amira looked up at Nicky, and used both her hands to slap against his chest, giggling, “Pa - _pa_ .”  
  
Her first word - and Nicky looked _so_ shocked that he might have questioned if he even heard right. He immediately looked over at Joe, who could only nod - because they had been addressing each other as _Papa_ and _Baba_ in front of her since the beginning, and her babbles had _sort of_ sounded like ‘Baba’ but she never looked at Joe when she said it, so they figured it really was just baby speak. But no this one was distinct. And when Joe came over, pointed at Nicky, and said, “ _Habibti,_ who is this?” She looked up at Nicky with her pretty brown eyes and laughed, “Papa.”  
  
Nicky looked like he could cry tears of joy, but he didn’t want to scare their daughter thinking he was sad, so instead he snuggled her close - then apologized to Joe that her first word wasn’t _Baba_ , which was about the most ridiculous thing for Nicky to worry about, “My turn will come later _habibi_ \- just enjoy our daughter for a moment, and I’ll go get you a plate of food okay?”  
  
Nicky’s reply sounded a little muffled as he pressed Amira close, “Okay.”  
  
Joe’s turn _did_ come about a month later, when he handed her a box to open for Christmas, and Amira baby signed _thank you_ , and said, “Baba”.   
  
Joe didn’t know if his life could get any better than this.   
  


* * *

**NOTES:** if you've been on Tumblr, you might have seen "noenoaholi" amazing OC Amira as kaysanova's adopted daughter - so all credit goes to her for this sweet little girl that has captured all of our hearts! <3 And I unfortunately don't know who first started the "YouTube AU" under the kaysanova tag, but thank you for it - thank you SO much xD And gawd, the text post of "I want a baby" and Joe's response of "Okay - what color?" just HAD to be included in this chapter. It had to be.  
  
Also, as someone who has been blessed by adoption in her family, please let me state that I _know_ adoption (especially international adoption) does not work this quickly, or smoothly, but I wanted to give them happiness so let's pretend okay? <3  
  
The FINAL epilogue is still being written, but should be up soon - it will feature Andy and Quynh and I want them to have everything after all they've been through! <333


	13. Epilogue - Year Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The FINAL epilogue, the last addition to this fic. Featuring an update on our couples, through the lens of Andy and Quynh <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This is the end, the final chapter, the final epilogue - I hope you like it <3  
> Just a quick trigger warning though, there are vague references to Quynh's past ~

* * *

**Year Five - Quynh**

They had just flown back in yesterday, and though Quynh had enjoyed the warmer weather in California, there was something about the crisp air of a late fall day that reminded her of home. Home with Andy by her side.  
  
She had been back for seven years now, longer together, than they had been apart. And the more time passed, the more she had good days versus bad. In fact, it felt more like bad moments - _not bad, hard_ , her mind countered. _Emotions aren’t good or bad, not inherently wrong or right, they are just there_ . It was _how_ she processed them, how she _handled_ them, what she did in _response_ to them that mattered. She could be angry, she could have rage of the five years she had been robbed of Andy. But every day she continued to choose kindness. And did the work in her therapy, to always make sure she had an arsenal of coping skills to help her channel it into something that would not gnaw at her soul.   
  
And all that rage, and fury, and pain? It never bled into her life, into her relationships, because she channeled it into her art therapy. First they were journals, then creative short stories, then she expanded them into books with the encouragement of Andy. 

In a safe space among pages and pages, hidden between the lines, where she could compartmentalize it. Detach herself a bit, and allow the character she had created to represent herself in the story. By describing the feelings in the books, Quynh was able to have a fictional guide into herself. Not someone to take the journey _for_ her, but someone that walked _alongside_ her as she explored just how deep the wounds ran. The final book was released two years ago, and she couldn’t believe how much it resonated with people. It both thrilled her to know someone was able to enjoy them, and tore at her heart to realize others were out there who could relate to the pain.   
  
On hard days, when she refused to allow the anger to bubble up - because it wasn’t _really_ anger, just pain and hurt and fear - she withdrew, isolating herself a bit, to sit with the feelings. Andy would gently sit beside her, quietly going over budgets, and documents, and reviews. Paper gliding against paper, pen scraping along. She’d wait patiently until the moment passed, at first an hour, then half, then fifteen minutes. Now, seven years later, Quynh could breathe through it. Truly take just a moment to ground herself, and remind herself she was safe - she was here - Andy was holding her hand.   
  
On the very worst days, when she had been in the conversion camp, broken down and hidden away - there were some nights she imagined the warmth of Andy’s hand in her limp one. She clutched it like a lifeline, and prayed. Her therapist said it was a coping mechanism to deal with the pain, while Andy tried not to grumble a retort about how unrealistic that had to be. But that was because Andy never felt Quynh’s presence while she was gone, _only loneliness, and pain, and anger._ _  
_   
So even now, seven years after she returned - with as much therapy, and self help, and writing and time that had passed - they _still_ managed to learn something about themselves on this trip: they realized how much their home settled them.   
  
They had only been gone a few weeks - both certain it would be a nice change of pace - but in California, they floated, clinging to one another to find the balance. Quickly realizing that they were creatures of habit. Or maybe the “surprise” and uncertainty of Quynh’s time away still affected them even now. They needed their routines, their weekly game nights, their work - even as it expanded, and shifted to include the museum. Even when they were busier than ever.

So even though the business trip was considered successful, they were eager to return home to their family. The little family that they had helped forge and build, and encourage and welcome into their lives. 

Here in the crisp air, and colored leaves, the people and places were familiar - and familiar, after the trauma they survived - felt _comforting_. They couldn’t get to Joe and Nicky’s condo (knowing they were all there waiting on them), soon enough. 

Quynh and Andy had just stepped off the elevator, feeling both relieved and excited. 

It had been a busy few months, and though of course their little family understood, they hadn’t been able to spend nearly as much time with them (and the precious babies) as they had wanted to. Quynh hosted two fundraisers a year for the museum, and that was busy enough to coordinate on top of a tenured career - but what made the last few weeks so insane - why they had even gone to California, was that her book series had been purchased for movie rights.

It had been a flurry of meetings with writers, and producers, and agents and gosh, she was just grateful that their plan had worked . . . and she couldn’t wait to share the details with them.   
  
Now - even though the pairs insisted that Andy and Quynh were more than welcome to just enjoy the soccer game with them - the ladies were arriving to pick up the kids. They loved to watch them as often as they could, but usually didn’t get one on one time but every few weeks. And really, soccer was not nearly as interesting to them as it was for the men. Besides, Nile would likely be filming Nicky for some other social media video series, though neither complained, it continued to bring in donations for the museum with ad revenue. And blissfully, they were going to see everyone at their place next week for Friendsgiving, so really, this was the perfect time to take the little girls to the small play area at the library two blocks away. They could see the girls, help the parents have a relaxing evening, and update them on the latest news. _Win, win, win,_ Quynh chirped in her head.   
  
One quick knock (though it was already unlocked), and Andy held the door open for Quynh as she stepped inside, “Afternoon everybody.”   
  
“Ah hey you guys, how was Hollywood?” Joe came over first, enveloping Quynh is such a boisterous hug that he swung her halfway around him till she landed gracefully on her heels. 

Then he repeated the same movement with Andy, who chuckled against his shoulder, before smacking his arm, “It wasn’t nearly as fancy as you’d imagine - most of our time was inside boring office spaces.”  
  
Booker came up behind Joe, one arm wrapping around his friend’s shoulders, “But did you end up making a deal?”   
  
Andy looked over at Quynh, making sure she was the one who got to share the good news, and Quynh gave one of her classic mischievous smiles before nodding her head. Joe scooped her up all over again, congratulating her while Booker clapped his hands together, “That’s amazing Quynh!”   
  
Nile and Nicky came out from Amira’s room, carrying their daughters, before Nicky surmised the scene, “I was going to ask what all the noise is about but I suspect I might know - “   
  
Andy instantly walked over to them, barely muttering a greeting to either Nile or Nicky before reaching out for Sophie, and then Amira, balancing each toddler on one hip. Quynh’s heart always melted at the sight, because even though neither of them wanted kids of their own, they really did enjoy them - and they loved Sophie and Amira as if they were their own nieces, and in a way they were. The couples always referred to them as “Aunt Quynh” and “Aunt Andy” - though it usually came out as “Antie Q” and “Antie Antie” when they said it. Today would be no different.   
  
“Missed you Antie Antie,” Sophie clasped her arms around Andy, a tight grip considering how small her reach still was, and Amira rested her head against her shoulder smiling as always - it looked a lot like Joe’s, even if they were only distantly related. Andy gave them each a kiss on the top of their heads, before singing Quynh’s praises to the adults, “Yes my wife managed to secure the deal, and I could not be more proud of her.” She tried winking back at Quynh, an impossible feat above Sophie’s ponytails, but a valiant effort nonetheless.   
  
Quynh merely shook her head, trying to be modest for once, “We’ve been very fortunate these past couple of years, and maybe it was all leading up to this?”   
  
Booker walked up to Nile, cradling her small baby bump from behind, “What do you mean?”   
  
Quynh fussed with her hands for a moment, a bad habit she had probably picked up from Nicky over the last couple years, and Andy rolled her eyes, “Here take one, the endorphins will help - “ 

She flopped Amira into her arms, and her wife was right, the toddler’s big brown eyes dazzling up at her did distract her while Andy went on to explain, “As you all know, Quynh has been working hard these last few years when it comes to the museum - fundraisers, events, book launches - well, she put it in the contract that instead of a commission or writing credit, one percent of the earnings, future earnings, syndication, sales, all of it, gets donated to the museum. And they accepted.”  
  
Joe who was standing next to Nicky gasped first, and ran a hand over the front of his curls, “Whoa Quynh that’s really generous of you.”   
  
Quynh elaborated with a dismissive grin, as if it wasn’t all that big of a sacrifice, “It’s not like I don’t still get royalties from the books, and paid book signings. Really, I wouldn’t want that kind of money anyway. I’m just grateful we’ve secured funding for a while, and with the trilogy finished, I can actually go back to spending most of my days in the classroom - _or_ in Andy’s office.” 

She raised an eyebrow that did not escape _anyone’s_ meaning, and Nicky walked over to Andy and promptly lifted his hands over Amira’s ears, “There are children present Quynh.”   
  
Andy swatted his hands away and teased, “She’s literally _seen_ worse from you two, than anything Quynh has said, trust me.”   
  
He relented with a wry smile, before taking Amira back for a moment, “Are you guys sure you don’t want to stick around for the game - I know we’re seeing you both next week, too - but you just got here.”   
  
But Andy merely wrapped a thin arm around Quynh’s shoulders keeping her close, “Definitely. We’d love to play with these two little ladies while you guys relax for a minute.”   
  
Joe stepped up to Nicky and Amira, kissing her little forehead, “Well better get my kisses in now since I won’t see her for a little while.” And Amira was already laughing as he scooped her out of Nicky’s arms and into his firm grasp, tilting her back and rubbing his beard along her stomach.   
  
Nile leaned back against Booker for a moment, sighing, “I wish I could bend over without feeling nauseous.” Booker held her a little tighter, offering a weak smile, “I’m sorry ma cherie, I hope it passes once you’re in the second trimester.”   
  
Andy balanced Sophie on her hip, a finger tickling her just under her chin, “And how does Sophie feel about being a big sister?”   
  
Sophie leaned in to whisper into Andy’s ear, but did a horrible job lowering her voice so _everyone_ heard, “Not happy. I don’t like boys.”   
  
Andy deadpanned, before roaring with laughter, “Neither do I kid.”   
  
Nile and Booker both looked shocked, eyes wide - but it was Joe who nudged Booker’s shoulder, “You got the test results back and didn’t tell us?”   
  
Booker shook his head, “I - well we were going to tell you all next week at the gathering, I - I don’t even know how Sophie knows.”   
  
Sophie leaned back into Andy’s shoulder, as comfortable as could be, “Heard you talk in bed.”   
  
Booker’s face looked downright red, and Nile straightened up immediately, “ _Sophie Freeman_ were you spying on us in the hallway?”   
  
Sophie just smiled, playing coy, and Andy turned around towards the door where a bag of their favorite toys was packed, “And now is a good time to head out - have fun with the game, we’ll feed them afterwards.” 

Quynh took Amira from Joe, following right behind her.  
  
“No artificial ingredients Andy,” Nicky called out after them, while Joe pressed Booker for the names they were picking for their baby boy.   
  
Quynh smirked up at her wife as she put Sophie on the ground for a moment to help her with her jacket, “How come you managed to uproot their peaceful evening ten minutes after arriving?”   
  
“It’s a gift,” she grinned, and then held the door open for them.

* * *

  
**Year Five - Andy**   
  


Andy and Quynh grabbed the two umbrella strollers, plopping a kid in each one, and tickling them on their stomachs for good measure as they buckled them in. With one last wave to the parents, who were a little distracted by whether the new baby should be named _Jean_ or _Pierre_ , they wheeled them out backwards before shutting the door behind them.   
  
“Antie Q, do you like boys?” Sophie was keeping her eyes in front of her, as they headed towards the elevator. Andy gave her a teasing smirk, but the nuances of human sexuality likely exceeded the kind of conversation one could have with a two and a half year old.   
  
Though naturally, her wife managed to handle it perfectly, as usual, “I like Uncle Joe and Nicky. And your Papa, too.”   
  
Sophie twisted in her seat a little, until Quynh walked a further ahead so she wouldn’t have to, “They are men.”   
  
_Oh_ , Andy realized, _she means little boys. She doesn’t like_ little _boys._ Wow, had she read _that_ wrong.   
  
When they had reached the elevator, Quynh pressed the down button, and smiled warmly at the little girl, “Your little brother will be a man, too one day.”   
  
Somehow, that hadn’t occurred to Sophie until that very moment, and her whole face lit up. She giggled then - in only the way little children can do - she changed the subject in one instant, “Can we have ice cream?”   
  
Quynh looked up at Andy, who merely shrugged her shoulders. Technically Nicky hadn’t said no sugar, just nothing artificial. And one great thing about a city was there were plenty of health food stores. Besides, she needed to keep her title of the “cool aunt”. Ice cream for dinner sounded about right for the status. Her wife gave Sophie a quick wink just as the doors opened, “Let’s do the library first, then we’ll go hunt for some organic ice cream.”   
  
This time Amira, who was usually more quiet than Sophie, lifted her hands straight in the air, “Yay!”   
  
Andy shook her head as they walked into the elevator. The girls were already deciding on what flavors they wanted, and since they were seemingly distracted, she leaned over to Quynh, “They are going to kill us for bringing their kids home all sugared up.”   
  
Quynh looked down at them, so tenderly and sweetly, “I’ll offer to stay until they have the sugar crash.”   
  
Andy smiled before giving her wife a kiss on the cheek, because _of course_ she would make such an offer. She and Nicky were a lot alike in that respect, always finding ways to help and take care of someone around them. They both called it having a 'servant’s heart', something to do with their faith, but Andy knew better. This was just who Quynh was.   
  
Under the sass, under the creativity and the passion (both at work, and in bed), was the sweetest woman she had ever known. And she loved her for it. 

Her only regret in life was what had happened to her. How they had been robbed of five years together. How there was a firm line that could be placed in the relationship they had had before, and what they had after. Quynh was different (how could she not be), but not the core of who she was, just - _stronger?_ She wished she never knew how strong she was.   
  
Quynh had crawled out of that tragedy with a firm resolution. Determination, and hard work, even when there were days when she felt she was walking through wet cement. Andy would have done anything to spare her from that pain. Spare them both, because the reality was, Andy was changed by it as well. Except hers was a resigned acceptance that justice would never be served, and an undercurrent of rage that on dark, _dark_ days she wouldn’t mind exacting her vengeance on those bastards.

It didn’t help things that it was right around this time, twelve years ago - _shit, twelve years_ \- that Quynh sat down in their new house, making that Christmas wreath to hang on their door. Andy still remembered when she came home that night from a meeting to find her half buried under ribbons and fake pine cones at the dining room table. Quynh was artistic, but she had never seen her be particularly crafty, but as she would go on to explain it was for Andy while she would be away visiting her family.   
  
Andy had tried to discourage her, because even though she had never met, or talked, to Quynh’s family - she overheard how upset Quynh got on the phone with them, how sad she would be after. She asked her outright not to go. She didn’t care about Christmas, certainly didn’t need a wreath, but Quynh insisted it would be good to be clear with her family. Tell them about the engagement, and her successful career, and say her goodbyes in person if they truly could not accept any of it.   
  
Then she balanced it up on the table, a truly pitiful looking thing, and smiled: _Besides, every day I’m gone, you can look at the wreath and know I made it with love for you._

That wreath hung for five brutal years. Even when the pinecones fell off, and the ribbons wore down, Andy kept it up. When Quynh had returned she did take it down, but brought it right back out for the last six years . . . until earlier, just a few days ago, Quynh asked Andy to throw it away.  
  
At first Andy tried to argue against it, but Quynh, ever as patient, simply reminded her that she’d make her a new one this year. And there was so much meaning behind the sentiment: she wasn’t the same person who made the wreath all those years ago, they didn’t need that reminder of Andy’s painful five years alone, and that they could build something new - this time together.   
  
She’d have to dig out of the attic space, but Andy would be helping Quynh decorate in just a few weeks - and before they’d even start, she’d throw it out. It wasn’t like she would suddenly forget what had happened during those days it had hung on the door. _  
_   
Yes, Quynh was stronger now - and Andy hated the reason behind that - but she was also happy, and carefree, and kind. And she encouraged their little family, and helped it expand into something Andy had never thought she’d have before. She had never pictured herself the mother type, but as the library came in sight, and Sophie and Amira shrieked at the excitement of the play area - Andy smiled, because she learned not too long after these sweet girls had arrived in her life, that she was meant to be an aunt.   
  
Now, as she helped them out of the strollers, Quynh led the girls into the play area - while Andy folded them up and placed them near the hooks and jackets. The keychain that Nicky gave Quynh five years ago about the meaning of family, dangling on her purse zipper. The place was pretty empty, no other kids to share the toys with, and they quickly dumped a large toy box onto the train themed carpet. Quynh just sat down on the floor with them, helping them decide which toy to play with first, while Andy watched from the half wall that blocked off the area.   
  
Quynh was a vision of grace with her knees folded beside her, her dress falling around her like she was a princess. Her graceful hands roamed over the plastic and wood options, and her smile was warm and friendly. And her dark hair was braided over her shoulder, little wisps of silver intertwining through the strands. Quynh had insisted on dying her hair to cover up her “aging”, but Andy shook her head and asked her not to. Told her it was a privilege to get to grow old with her, because for a long time she had feared she wouldn’t have been able to.   
  
So when she looked up from the toys, waving Andy over to them, she counted her blessings: starting with Quynh.   
  
She sunk to her knees beside them, just in time for Sophie and Amira to grab some dolls before running towards the play house in the corner. Quynh’s shoulders shook from the gentle laugh she gave at the sight, “Guess you arrived just in time for them to decide to run off.” But when she turned back to Andy, she paused, “What are you thinking wifey?”

Andy smiled, her hand going to Quynh’s jaw, “Just how lucky I am, that’s all.”  
  
Quynh bit her bottom lip, shaking her head, “Not lucky, blessed.”   
  
She leaned in, and gave Andy a chaste kiss before Sophie and Amira barrelled into them knocking them all over. Quynh laughed the loudest, the girls giggled, but Andy laid there in quiet gratitude. This was it. This was her life. Her messy, busy, crazy, never boring life. If you tried to ask her how it all worked out in the end, even with how crazy it got for a while, she wouldn’t have been able to provide the answers. She didn’t know the magic formula, or if maybe there was someone in the sky looking out for her.   
  
But as the girls stood back up, and Quynh reached for Andy’s hand to help her get up as well, she looked up at her wife and knew . . . that though she didn’t have the answer, she had purpose. 

* * *

**NOTES:** and that’s a wrap for the Purpose of Art! I really hope you enjoyed the whole thing, and the soft epilogues, because each and every one of them deserved it!! <3  
Thank you for reading this far, and supporting me over the last seven weeks as I somehow managed to pour out about 110k words of a little bit of everything :p (feel free to reread my notes at the end of Chapter. 10 - Finale for more about that). But honestly guys, your comments, kudos, and encouragement meant a lot, and I hope you enjoyed the fan service of these epilogues as a special thank you to all of you :D

Lastly, I AM hoping to write a Prequel for Andy and Quynh around Christmas time - a little from their perspective as they first fall in love, and as Quynh heals afterwards - right before things happen in this fic ;) So keep an eye out for that! (I'll try to link it right here once it's actually up). Much love dear readers <3


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